Fifty Mysteries
by kci47
Summary: A collection of unrelated mystery one-shots revolving around my favorites, Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. Written for the "OTP Boot Camp" challenge on HPFC. So many different disclaimers...at times, canon-compliant or AU; EWE or PWP, but always SSHG...that rhymed!; short, long, happy, sad, silly, clever, fluffy-and some that aren't really mysteries after all.
1. The Case of the Mirror Image

**This was written for Gamma Orionis' "OTP Boot Camp Challenge" on HPFC. Basically, Gamma provided 50 prompts and encouraged everyone to write 50 fics centered on their "one true pairing". Mine is, of course, Hermione and Severus. My husband gave me an idea one night while he was jokingly "writing" fanfiction (don't ask; it was awful) and so each of these 50 stories will be in some form of a mystery! From silly to sad, sexy to serious, and everything in between, may I present Fifty Mysteries.**

**I didn't want to spam my profile every time I wrote a little SSHG one-shot, so I decided to make this into a collection. Each chapter is a different story corresponding to one of the prompts. They are not intended to be taken as a cohesive story; just some semi-related one-shots involving Hermione and Snape. Could be during her school years; could be 19 years later; could be canon-compliant or AU or even UA (Universally Alternative—FYI, I made that up). I make no promises.**

**With that being said, please enjoy!**

* * *

**The Case of the Mirror Image**

_Prompt: silence is golden_

Holding his breath in anticipation, Severus eased open the heavy wooden door and slipped into the darkened room. He quickly slid the door shut again and took a moment to get his bearings. A small sliver of moonlight sliced a path across the floor, only just bright enough to assure him that he was alone in the room.

And not only was he alone, but the room was very nearly entirely empty—with one exception. Severus released the breath he held, his muscles relaxing as he gazed at the tall object. He had found it again.

Approaching the Mirror of Erised with excitement coursing through his system, Severus reached out one reverent hand to stroke the gilded scrollwork along the sides. He hadn't seen it since just before bloody _Potter _had discovered it.

Severus had always prided himself on sniffing out Dumbledore's hiding spots. For years now, they had played an unspoken game of cat and mouse with the mirror: Severus would discover it, Dumbledore would find out and relocate it, and Severus would begin the hunt again. Sometimes it only took a matter of days; sometimes, like this time, months might pass before Severus would stumble upon it again.

The last time he'd found the mirror, he'd only been able to visit it once. Then Harry dratted Potter had come along and discovered its delights, and the irritating boy had returned every night after, leaving no opportunity for Severus himself to view the mirror undisturbed.

Severus snorted softly, remembering how he'd nearly revealed himself to Potter one evening, intent on asking the boy if he realized that his mirror image was halfway identical to Severus' own. That would have surely frightened the boy off, but Severus refused to acknowledge anything at all in common with The Boy Who Lived, and certainly not something so personal as _that_.

Rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation, he closed his eyes as he stepped in front of the mirror. The moment just before he looked was always his favorite: the heady thrill of knowing what he would find when he opened his eyes and the anxious excitement of seeing _her _again were the only things that kept him going sometimes. Taking a deep breath and deliberately calming his frenzied thoughts, he squared his shoulders and snapped his eyes open.

It took several seconds for what he was seeing to sink in. The childish grin on his face ebbed away and was slowly replaced by confusion and dawning anger.

The fiery red hair and sparkling green eyes of Lily Evans were nowhere to be seen. His fists clenching, Severus glared at the mirror. For years, the Mirror of Erised had provided him with the fuel for his fantasies—he and Lily, standing side-by-side, arms entwined. Together. In love. He wanted—no, needed—for the blasted mirror to show him his darling Lily. It was the only bright part of his otherwise dark and dreary existence.

And yet, the mirror was now showing him something else entirely. His classroom, to be precise, full of students. Severus scoffed. There was no way in hell that his heart's deepest desire was to be back in front of his students just now. Circling the mirror twice, Severus checked for any sort of spell damage or other malformation. Who knew? Maybe there had been a leak that caused some water damage...or a particularly determined mouse had chewed into the wood of the frame...

No, there was nothing. Growling in frustration, Severus looked again at the smooth glass. Still, his beloved Lily was absent. However, a flash of her eyes caught his attention, and he realized that he was observing his current Gryffindor-Slytherin first-year Potions class. Potter was sitting in the front with his obnoxious sidekicks, Weasley and Granger. Brilliant.

He turned to storm from the room when something made him stop. Moving closer until his nose was almost touching the mirror, Severus scanned the image in detail. Finally, he saw it—something so bizarre and outlandish he had no idea what to make of it.

Stepping back in surprise, Severus contemplated the mirror's image again. It was supposed to show him the darkest desires of his heart, which in the past had always been Lily. Now, however, it seemed that his deepest desire was nothing more or less than...a bit of peace in class?

The Miss Granger in the mirror was grotesquely altered. She had no arms to raise, no hands to wave about, and, most importantly, no mouth to speak.

He rested his forehead against the mirror dejectedly. What was his life coming to?

* * *

**A/N: Just a short one to kick this thing off. I have a handful of other ideas, but nowhere near 50, so hang in there! I'm not JK Rowling, I don't own anything at all, and it's truly not worth your time to attempt to sue me, I promise. **


	2. The Case of the Missing Library Books

**This is pretty much entirely AU-no Voldemort, Hermione went to 7th year, Snape is alive, etc., etc. **

* * *

**The Case of the Missing Library Books**

_Prompt: violation (used only in the most liberal of ways)_

Hermione surveyed the party in the Great Hall, watching as everyone around her celebrated the end of the year. They would graduate from Hogwarts tomorrow after seven long years of schooling, so tonight, they made merry. Butterbeer was flowing, a Weird Sisters tribute band was playing, and the professors and seventh years were mingling and chatting happily.

But Hermione couldn't enjoy herself. Earlier in the day, Irma Pince had cornered her and informed her that she would be ineligible for graduation unless she returned every last one of her outstanding library books by midnight. And unfortunately...that was _a lot _of books.

She'd never meant to accumulate them in her room, truly. It just seemed that for every class there ended up being a book or two that she needed to reference repeatedly, and it was easier to keep them in her room. A few of her more studious classmates even knew to come directly to her when they wanted certain texts.

So, now, she had to figure out a way to return the piles of books to the library, preferably without being seen. It was extremely difficult to slip out of the graduation party, however. Every time she moved towards the door, someone would grab her and insist that she not turn in just yet. She could hardly tell them why she needed to go. She would be mortified for anyone to realize just how many books she'd acquired over the years.

It would be even more mortifying if she did not graduate tomorrow because of a silly violation, though. Stiffening her spine, Hermione walked purposefully towards the exit. It was just after nine, and she thought she would be able to levitate all the books back in three or four trips. Just as she reached the door, she found her way blocked by a lean figure wearing all black.

"Leaving the festivities and depriving us of your presence so soon, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape drawled. "Pity."

A shiver went up Hermione's spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the menace in his tone and _everything _to do with the way his eyes bored into her own. But she couldn't let him see that he affected her so. "I've grown rather bored with such foolishness," she responded in her primmest voice. "I was going to make one last visit to-"

"The library," he finished for her. "Yes, Madam Pince told me you might need some assistance returning a rather large amount of material tonight. Imagine my shock upon learning that one of Hogwarts' brightest students was no better than a common thief-"

"I'm not a thief!" Hermione hissed, clenching her fists at her sides, anger helping diminish her embarrassment at being found out. "I was never going to remove the books from the school!"

"Yes, you clearly have such great respect for the common rules of decency." His gaze dropped pointedly to her chest, where the dip of the amethyst robes revealed a hint of cleavage. Hermione fought the urge to cross her arms protectively over herself. The dress robes she'd picked for the party tonight were nothing unusual for a young woman, and certainly no more revealing than the skintight hot pink number Lavender was strutting around in.

"I'm not the one ogling a student," she retorted. She instantly regretted her barb, however, when the black eyes snapped back to her face and his features hardened.

"You will not be a student after tomorrow, Miss Granger," he corrected her. "Provided, of course, you can return those books within the next two and a half hours."

His reminder of why she was near the doors in the first place was perfectly timed. She had been about to argue with him further, but she needed to hurry up if she wanted to make the arduous trip from her dormitory to the library and back several times before midnight. _Dratted man_, she thought. Their banter never ceased to agitate her, and she hardly ever walked away feeling as though she had won.

_Ah, but that's why you like it so much_, a voice in her head pointed out. It was true, too—she enjoyed verbally sparring with her clever professor, and over the past year, it had grown into an obsession. Much as she hated to admit it to herself, the fact that he was able to engage her mind was far more attractive than any physical trait.

She would not admit it to _him_, however. "Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, I would like to see to those books so that I can graduate tomorrow as planned. Good evening." She was about to brush past him when a hand on her elbow stopped her.

"If you would allow me to assist you," he said in a low voice, "you could be done with your task much more quickly. I am sure your friends wish to spend as much time as possible with you this evening, and it will only look suspicious if you rush off to the library now."

Hermione swayed slightly, the rumble of his voice at her back proving to be a delightful feeling. "Very well," she replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

"Find me around eleven," he whispered into her ear. "I'll be ready then."

He was gone in a swirl of robes before she had a chance to question what he meant by saying "I'll be ready then". Contemplative, and more excited than she wanted to let on, she rejoined her friends by the punch bowl and distractedly waited for eleven o'clock to arrive.

* * *

Taking one last look around, Hermione slipped out of the Great Hall. Professor Snape had disappeared after speaking to her earlier, and he still had not returned. Since it was now ten past eleven, Hermione was worried that he'd forgotten. Or maybe he was going to meet her at the portrait hole? Hurrying up the empty corridors to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione tried to slow the racing of her heart. This was it—she was doing it—she was clandestinely meeting Severus Snape in the middle of the night.

Alright, so it wasn't truly as intriguing as it sounded when she put it that way. He was simply assisting her with returning her massive amounts of _borrowed_—not stolen—books to the library so that she could graduate on time. In all likelihood, he just wanted to make sure that she would never grace his classrooms again, and ensuring her immediate graduation was the best means to achieve that end.

Still. It was exciting, this secret meeting of theirs. Maybe she would be so bold as to call him Severus, or perhaps she would amuse him with a witty observation... _Or perhaps he will help you take the books back and then send you on your way, silly girl_. Hermione sighed. Now was not the time to be taken by flights of fancy.

Climbing through the portrait hole, Hermione shrieked in surprise. He was already standing in the common room, waiting for her, books piled at his feet. "Did you actually leave any reference books in the library at all?" he asked, his amazement evident.

"Of course I did," she said defensively. When he merely raised an eyebrow, she elaborated. "The useless ones." Oh, his lips had definitely twitched upwards for a moment. A thrill coursed through her and she suddenly felt much older than eighteen. The feeling emboldened her to step forward and smile up at him. "I thought you might have ditched me."

He ignored her implication. "You are aware that the library is locked at this hour," he said, more statement than question.

Now her grin widened. "Only if you don't have a key," she answered, removing an ornate golden key from her pocket.

"Where did you—nevermind, I do not want to know," he muttered, levitating the largest stack of books. Hermione tucked the key back into her robes and raised a smaller stack, leading the way back to the hole.

They walked in companionable silence to the library. At least, it felt companionable to Hermione: no insults or glares were exchanged, so she considered that a good sign. Their task was accomplished with just one additional trip, and then they spent a quiet fifteen minutes reshelving all her books. He was much faster than she, so that the last four books she replaced she did under his watchful eye. She tried not to imagine the heated look she hoped he was giving her, but it was hopeless. The stillness of this end of the castle coupled with the raw power emanating from this man and the giddiness of sneaking around alone with him was nearly too much for her overactive imagination.

Finally, she was done. She straightened as she faced her professor. "Well, thank you, sir. I will officially be able to graduate tomorrow." She flashed him a bright smile, holding out her hand to shake his.

But Professor Snape continued to stare at her, his arms remaining crossed as he leaned against a shelf. She fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze, eventually dropping her hand.

"You still need to return the key, am I correct?" he asked.

"Er, yes, but I can do that tomor-"

"Now," he commanded. "You will return it now."

"Y-yes, sir," she stammered, strange lust coursing through her at his silky order. The student-teacher fantasy had never been her cup of tea, but at the moment she was finding it difficult to remember any reason why not.

She turned and made her way to Madam Pince's office, set at the front of the library. Wordlessly unlocking the door, Hermione stepped in and was immediately crowded by Professor Snape as he followed her into the small room. Swallowing thickly, she approached the hook on the far wall as she heard him close the door.

"This is where it lives," she explained unnecessarily, delighting in his unexpected chuckle. The unfamiliar sound reverberated around the room as she tried to remember if she'd ever been the one to make him laugh before. She didn't think so.

* * *

She replaced the key on its hook.

"Are we done now?" he asked her back, his voice unaccountably husky.

"Yes-"

He grabbed her arm and swung her to face him, immediately mashing his lips to hers. The overwhelming taste of firewhisky hit her just before a mad rush of desire. His kiss was unrelenting, and she opened her mouth willingly to his plundering tongue. He released her arm to wrap both of his own around her. Hermione moaned appreciatively and threw her arms about his neck.

For minutes upon minutes, they stood pressed together, passionately kissing. Hermione felt dizzy with lust and eagerness to do more, yet she didn't want this particular activity to come to a halt, either. Gradually the sharp taste of the firewhisky grew on her. The taste of _him _was so wrapped up with the taste of the alcohol that she could hardly separate one from the other. She knew that she would never be able to so much as smell firewhisky without thinking of this night, this man, ever again.

Hermione moaned again and ground her hips against him. He responded by sliding his hands down to grip her bum and pull her even closer. And just like that, his hands began to roam over her entire body, possessively squeezing and stroking everywhere they touched. She continued to tangle her tongue around his as she gave her hands permission to wander as well.

She stroked her palms over his shoulders and down his back, stopping short of his backside. She wasn't quite _that_ bold, not yet. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his lean waist, supporting herself as he moved his mouth to her jaw and her knees threatened to buckle. He made a noise deep in his throat, then lifted her and set her on Madam Pince's desk, immediately moving to stand between her thighs.

She eagerly wrapped her legs around his waist, leaning back a bit and sliding her hands up over his chest. He seemed entranced by the vision of her splayed out before him, but Hermione did not have the patience for him to just stand there and look his fill. Twining her fingers in his hair, she pulled his mouth back down to hers, and he leant over her, surrounding her.

Hermione moaned happily, lifting her hips to press against him as she rubbed her breasts against his chest. His arms caged her in on both sides, and the feeling of being completely and totally at his mercy nearly undid her. Reaching for the bulge in his trousers, Hermione was momentarily dazed when he abruptly stood up.

"I should go," he said brusquely.

"What-"

"Until tomorrow, you remain a student, and this has been highly inapp-"

"Pleasurable!" she burst out, sitting up and shoving the hem of her robes back down. "Highly _pleasurable_! And it could continue to be so, if you would only-"

He grabbed her hands and hauled her, none too gently, to her feet. "I cannot," he told her, and she felt hurt and anger begin to wash away her rampant desire.

"I'm as good as graduated; don't deny us this!" she hissed. He merely stared unflinchingly at her until she realized that he would not be kissing her senseless any more tonight. She grew frustrated. She didn't want to appear to be needy, though, not with this man—they had always fought for dominance and she was loath to concede ground now.

"Fine. Thank you, then, for helping me with my books. Goodbye." She marched past him, out of the office and out of the library, not bothering to relock the library doors.

* * *

She was halfway down the corridor when he caught up to her.

"Come here and give me a goodbye kiss," he murmured as he spun her suddenly to face him. Without hesitation, she moved forward and grabbed his head in her hands, kissing him fiercely. She didn't care that they were out where anyone could see them; all she cared about was that this would be the last time they'd ever kiss...and _he _had asked _her_.

Well, not asked. Commanded. But that was part of what drew her to him. Hermione thrust her tongue into his mouth, determined to leave him with the memory of the hottest bloody kiss he'd ever received. As she made to pull away, he chased her lips with his own, planting a tender kiss on her surprised mouth. He kissed her rather more restrainedly than he had been, and she nearly wept. This was...at once everything and nothing like she'd imagined it would be.

Sighing when he straightened, Hermione looked up at him, unsure whether there was anything left to be said, other than _please take me! _She didn't much think he would, though, even if she did beg. He confirmed her suspicions when he brushed one fingertip down her cheek and stepped back.

"Goodbye, Hermione."

Her answering "Goodbye, Severus," was lost in the echo of his footsteps as he made his way down the hall.

* * *

**A/N: RAWR, amirite? :) Quite the graduation gift. I'm not JK Rowling or else there would have been 7 books worth of Snape/Hermione smut, and muchmuchmuchmuch more Snape saying sexy words.** **Also, I think this still falls in the T rating category, but if you disagree, drop me a note and I'll ramp it up to M!**


	3. The Case of the Mysterious Healer

**This one is fully intended to be canon-compliant. I went back to the last chapter and added a disclaimer at the top!**

* * *

**The Case of the Mysterious Healer**

_Prompt: kindness_

Severus Snape strode back and forth across his classroom with purposeful menace. The group of students in front of him looked on in frightened anticipation, wondering when he was going to explode. As fifth years, they knew by now that when he was angry, he loomed motionless at the front of the room and spoke so softly they had to strain to hear. And they also knew that when he was furious—no, _outraged_—he paced. There was nothing for it but to wait for the wrath that would soon pour down upon their heads.

Finally, he spun to glare at them, knowing very well the imposing effect he had. "Someone," he said slowly, deliberately, "in this very room has been stealing potions ingredients from my personal stores." He paused to allow his words to sink in. Several students looked around nervously, as though they expected the culprit to come forward immediately. "I will give that person one chance, and one chance only, to confess to their crimes." Severus crossed his arms and waited.

As he suspected, no one was brave enough to step forward. "Very well. You leave me little choice. No one will leave this room until someone has admitted guilt. You are not to speak, you are not to move, you are not to look anywhere _except straight ahead, Mr. Longbottom!_" Neville had glanced nervously over at Ron and Harry but snapped his gaze back to the front at his professor's command.

Severus began to prowl up and down the rows of Slytherins, looking at each one in turn. He was an accomplished Legilimens, and if someone from his house was the thief, he would know shortly. And then he would simply blame it on the Gryffindors.

Unsurprisingly, all of his Slytherins seemed to be harboring secrets, although none of them were pertinent to his investigation, or even all that interesting. Severus resisted the urge to rub his hands together gleefully as he approached the Gryffindor side of the classroom. This would mean the loss of at least one hundred house points, a month's worth of free cauldron-scrubbing at a minimum, and possibly expulsion.

Reaching the front row where Potter, Weasley, Granger and Longbottom sat, Severus spoke again, prolonging the moment of his triumph. "Well, well, well. It must be my lucky day, as it appears my thief is one of the students sitting at this table. Let's see which one of you will be serving detentions with me for the rest of the year, shall we?"

Longbottom was quaking in his seat—Severus would eat his robes if the timid boy was the culprit. Potter was glaring defiantly at him, but Severus had no need to Legilimize the boy to find his answers. He had already taken several looks into the boy's mind over the past weeks, and Potter was such a lousy Occlumens that there was no possible way he could have hidden such an act from Severus.

A movement caught his eye. Miss Granger had just nudged Weasley's foot with her own, and the redhead's eyes immediately dropped to his tabletop. Looking more closely, Severus noted that she was staring at a point just over his shoulder. From a distance it would appear that she was watching him, but no matter which way he moved, she made sure to shift her gaze so that they never made eye contact. _Clever girl_. No doubt Potter had explained his failed Occlumency lessons to his comrades, and Miss Granger had just reminded Weasley not to look directly at Severus.

"Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley. You will remain where you are. The rest of you may go." The class remained immobilized, likely in shock. "I instructed you to go, now!" he roared, impatient to get to the bottom of the thefts so that he could assign a suitably massive punishment.

As the class filed out, Potter shot him a baleful glare, which he ignored. Miss Granger had placed a restraining hand on Weasley's arm, but she was still staring straight ahead. Once they were alone, Severus stepped up to the front of their table, prepared to interrogate them until they broke.

But Miss Granger beat him to it. "Professor. I am prepared to admit guilt-"

"Hermione, no!" her companion exclaimed, but she continued.

"-_and _accept whatever punishment you deem necessary if you will allow Ron to leave without further consequence."

Much as he hated conceding the first point in their confrontation to her, he doubted Weasley was at the root of the issue anyway, and he could break Miss Granger much more easily without her bodyguards. "Very well. Mr. Weasley, leave."

The boy looked at Miss Granger, seeming to argue silently with her, but she merely shook her head and resumed her vacant stare. Huffing angrily, Weasley finally stomped from the classroom, slamming the door behind him. Now Severus would be able to question her and perhaps force her to look him in the eye.

Once again, however, she spoke first. "I know you have already determined the punishment for this alleged crime," she said in that annoying manner of hers. "I am therefore offering to accept double whatever you were going to dole out if you simply listen to my explanation—and answer me one question truthfully."

Severus scoffed. "You are hardly in a position to make demands!" he snarled. The nerve of her...

"I have already confessed guilt and accepted my penalty, so on that score we have nothing else to discuss. However, if you are at all interested in _why _I've been taking ingredients, then my price is my explanation and one yes-or-no answer. And I am offering you the opportunity to remove twice the house points you were already planning. I see no disadvantage for you...but of course it is your choice." She inhaled deeply, as though she had run through her whole speech on one breath. Come to think of it, she probably had.

Severus considered her. His gut was urging him not to give in, not to allow a student to bargain with him. However, his mind was intrigued. Clearly she thought she had some information of value, if she was willing to double her own sentence. Inwardly, he shrugged. As she'd said, he had nothing to lose here.

"On your head be it, then. Gryffindor will lose two hundred points, you will serve detentions with me for the remainder of term, and I will be speaking to the Headmaster about having you expelled for stealing." She nodded mutely. "Your explanation?"

"The question first. And you agreed to answer truthfully."

She still refused to look at him, so he caught himself nodding and instead said, "Go on." He fully expected her question to be some ridiculous schoolgirl inquiry, such as whether he hated her as much as he seemed to, or if he might please try to be nicer to Saint Potter and the idiot Longbottom.

So, he was entirely surprised when the indignant brown eyes finally met his own and she asked, "Do you support Dolores Umbridge?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, taken aback.

"I am not the one answering questions here. A simple yes or no will suffice," she said primly, and he clenched his jaw. He briefly considered lying to her, anyway, but something in her trusting expression stopped him. He knew she was no Legilimens, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that she would sense it if he did not tell her the truth, regardless.

"No," he bit out.

Her shoulders relaxed and she let out a breath. "I hoped not. You mentioned detentions with you, not her, and you still referred to the Headmaster even though she has taken over as High Inquisitor," the girl muttered, halfway to herself.

"You owe me an explanation, Miss Granger," he reminded her, unconcerned with her reasons for asking him what she had.

"Yes. Right. Well, you see, the thing is—you're aware I've only been taking murtlap?" At his curt nod, she continued. "It's her detentions, Professor, she forces us to write lines with a special quill that-"

"I am knowledgeable of her methods," Severus cut in. "You will find, Miss Granger, if you care to pay attention for once, that the professors of this school have become surprisingly lenient as of late-"

"I know, Professor!" she exclaimed. Seeing his scowl, she reined in her tone. "Um, that is, I _have _noticed. Most of us have," she added softly. "However, that hasn't stopped that foul woman from continuing to assign detentions whenever she feels like it, and I, er, have been using the murtlap to heal everyone's hands afterwards. For a while I just used what was available in the school cupboards, but that ran out several weeks ago, and I didn't want to get Madam Pomfrey into trouble, so I've—I've been taking it from your stores, instead." She paused to catch her breath before continuing. "I fully intended to repay you at some point—I had hoped she would be gone by now, to be honest, but so far we've been unlucky—and I'm begging you, Professor Snape, _please _don't turn me in to her! I'm Muggle-born and I can't imagine what she'd do to me if she found out I was helping people she'd expressly punished-"

Severus held up a hand to stop her rambling. This was far more of an explanation than he had bargained on, and her revelations were unwelcome, besides. He was powerless to do anything that would directly oppose the little pink toad, and he did _not _wish to know of this particular Gryffindor's illicit activities if questioned. Noble as her intentions may be, they both knew that the consequences of discovery were dire.

"And I suppose you did not consider that you have left me with no murtlap to treat my own house?" he asked.

Miss Granger, unaccountably, looked relieved. "I've been treating Slytherins, too, although not as many of them have received detentions with Umbridge. If there's someone I've missed, however, I'd be happy to return some of-"

"That will not be necessary," he murmured. Tracing his lip with a finger, he tried to recall whether any of his students had required the healing oil lately. He was aggravated to admit that none of them seemed to have suffered any ill effects, even though he knew several who had earned detentions. He had had more important things on his mind, though, and he had not been paying attention. It seemed little miss do-good truly had been healing Slytherins along with everyone else. This uncharacteristic show of kindness on her part annoyed him mightily, even as he was impressed by her resourcefulness. _Which only annoys me further_, he thought angrily.

They stared at one another for a long moment while he considered the tangled mess in front of them. If he went through with his sentencing, there could be no doubt that Umbridge would punish Miss Granger most severely. And then there would be no one left to heal the masses.

Growling, Severus realized he would have to let her go. Judging by the way her lips were twitching, she knew it, too, the little minx. No wonder she had been willing to risk so many point deductions—she had undoubtedly trusted that once he heard her explanation, he would realize his hands were tied. She had suspected, as well, that his sympathies did not lie with Dolores Umbridge or the Ministry. _Clever, clever girl_.

Still, he _could _punish her if he wished to. It was no matter to him whether she was expelled or not. He was not completely powerless. "It seems we have an issue, Miss Granger," he said, trying to sound bored. "If I report you, things will only worsen, for all of us." A grin lit her face, and he shook his head. "However. I find that there is something I would like in return for my silence."

"Anything!" she breathed, clearly relieved, and Severus snorted at her naïveté. Honestly, sometimes he wondered how such trusting people managed to survive and thrive... But now was not the time to ruminate on the failings of humankind.

"You have been a thorn in my side since you first stepped foot in this classroom. For the remainder of the year, you will not raise your hand in class, you will not answer questions unless called upon, and you will _not _submit homework above and beyond what has been assigned. Do I make myself clear?"

He nearly laughed out loud at the dismayed expression on her face. Reluctantly, it seemed, she nodded, sticking out her hand. He stared at the small, pale limb before giving up and shaking it.

"One hundred and ninety points back to Gryffindor," he growled.

"But-"

"You lost ten points for your cheek," he informed her, pleased when her lips compressed into a frustrated line. "Be glad it was not more. I assume I do not need to caution you to keep this conversation to yourself?" She shook her head, and he nodded once before moving towards his desk. "You're dismissed, then."

He heard her gathering her books and moving towards the door. Something in her eyes when she'd told him about the use his murtlap was being put to, however, caused him to say one more thing. "You will find that the school cupboards shall remain stocked for whatever length of time our High Inquisitor is here. Do not abuse my generosity."

He was in the process of turning to see what the sudden peculiar sound was, but Miss Granger collided with him before he was fully facing her. Immediately tensing, he reached to remove her arms from his person as she buried her face against his shoulder.

"Thann-kew, 'phfesser!" she spoke into his robes.

"What do you think you are doing?" he hissed.

Releasing him from her hug, Miss Granger looked up, her cheeks quickly turning bright red. "You're kinder than you let on," she murmured before turning and fleeing out of his classroom as though the hounds of hell were after her.

Staring down at the empty bottles of murtlap on his desk, he reflected that perhaps they _were_ after her, indeed.

* * *

**A/N: For some reason, I find myself writing different variations on this same theme in just about all of my SSHG fics. It must be something about the idea of Snape helping her with the murtlap that just calls to me, I don't know. In any case, I'm not JK Rowling, as evidenced by the complete lack of** **Galleons in my vault.**


	4. The Case of the Botched Potions

**Warning: mentions of birth control, preventing pregnancy...everything you'd expect in a sexual education class. **

**I intended this to be set sometime during the trio's third or fourth year.**

* * *

**The Case of the Botched Potions**

_Prompt: chastity_

"I fail to see why _I_ must be the one to teach this particular lesson, Albus," Severus growled as he crossed his arms stiffly over his chest. "I grow tired of being the sacrificial lamb. Surely Filius or—"

"As I explained in the faculty meeting, Severus, you have been selected to teach the class because the students are using botched potions in their endeavors, and a small lecture on the importance of not imbibing unknown concoctions would not be amiss." Dumbledore's calm demeanor only served to aggravate Severus further.

"Again I must ask you, why not Filius? The students are attempting charms well beyond their abilities, too."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and looked at Severus over the rim of his glasses. "I'm afraid that Filius does not command the same amount of—_respect_—that you do, Severus. I feel confident that after listening to _you _discuss the finer aspects of reproductive activities, our students will find a sudden decrease in their desire to participate in the same."

Severus ground his teeth together and made one last, desperate plea. "I would rather return to the Dark Lord's servitude than have a sexual education discussion with the students of this school."

Infuriatingly, the Headmaster only laughed. "You may yet have the opportunity to do both, my dear boy!" Still chuckling, Dumbledore rose to his feet and patted Severus rather forcefully on the back. "It won't be so terrible. Just treat it as you would your normal classroom lectures and you'll do fine."

As he was unceremoniously shuffled out the door, Severus worked to contain the string of foul words fighting to escape his lips. His normal classroom lectures were frequently punctuated by the interruptions of one annoying Gryffindor, and he shuddered to imagine what questions she might come up with for _this _subject.

~o~

Severus listened to the hum of discussion on the other side of the door, but he did not open his eyes or lift his head from where it rested against the cool stone wall. In a matter of minutes, he would have to face the entire Hogwarts student body to explain to the dunderheads the proper and improper uses of various methods of conception prevention. He knew, just _knew_, that his colleagues were all sitting cozily in the staff room, congratulating themselves on not being chosen for this dubious honor, and likely poking fun at him, too.

Unfortunately, there was nothing for it. He needed to focus on imparting the information as quickly and efficiently as possible so that he could return to the welcome solitude of his dungeons. He only hoped he didn't stumble over the anatomical phrases in the presence of the annoying brats.

Gathering his resolve and pasting his most displeased expression on his face, Severus slammed the door open with more force than was necessary and strode into the magically expanded classroom. The students within quieted immediately, most looking just as queasy as he felt. _Good_.

"There will be no talking, giggling, or jeering during this discussion. You will hold your questions until the end of the lecture. Any interruptions will result in the immediate loss of thirty points from your house." Severus stopped directly in front of the first row of students and glowered at the room at large. No one so much as twitched a muscle.

Pleased, he spun and approached the blackboard, flicking his wand and revealing the horrifying depictions of various reproductive body parts. "You are all familiar with the functions of your bodies," he intoned, hoping that this was true—there was no telling what the first years knew or didn't. But that was not his concern for today. "What I am here to explain to you are the correct and incorrect ways to apply magic to them, since apparently many of you are fool enough to believe any convincing redhead that offers to sell you a potion."

He turned to glare at Potter's redheaded sidekick—the closest alternative to the twins, who were even now serving one of their fifty detentions with Filch for attempting to sell their love potion. Weasley gulped and looked to the floor. Continuing his lecture, he said, "The simplest way to avoid infection and prevent pregnancy is to abstain entirely." Scanning the room, he noticed many of the older students rolling their eyes. _Obnoxious little cockroaches_.

"However, since it is clear that we cannot expect chastity from many of you, there are two other options: the Contraceptus potion and the _Nullus Gravida _charm. We will discuss the potion first. As with—"

Severus' eyebrows furrowed as a familiar hand shot up in the air. "I said hold your questions until the end," he snapped, about to continue his discussion when the girl spoke up.

"But, sir, aren't there other ways?" Miss Granger leaned forward in her seat, her posture so irritatingly eager that he had to repress the urge to sigh.

"Pay attention, Miss Granger," he drawled, bored with her questioning already. "I have just said that there are two methods of preventing pregnancy, the potion and the charm. Now, if you will allow me to continue—"

"I'm sorry, sir, but what about, ah, certain Muggle methods? Are they not effective for magical beings?" Her cheeks had flushed slightly and Severus could only hope that her inner discomfort was severe. Several coughs erupted at once, and Severus suspected they were disguising laughter.

"You will have to be more specific. 'Muggle methods'?"

Now she fidgeted in her seat, her entire face turning a brilliant crimson as other students turned to look at her with interest. "I mean—that is—well, I've read a-about things c-called—"

Severus smirked nastily at her as she tried to force her mouth to form the words. He was not in the mood to assist her even though he knew perfectly well what she was getting at.

"Condoms," she whispered finally.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you, Miss Granger." He had to restrain a laugh of his own as she appeared to suffer an apoplexy. However, he reluctantly admitted that she was brave indeed to continue to discuss condoms with him in front of an entire roomful of her peers.

"Condoms!" she shouted, clapping a hand over her eyes afterwards. She kept her hand there as she rushed on, "Why don't wizards just use condoms? Surely they'd be far simpler and therefore less likely to be used improperly than a spell or potion?"

Severus had to glare at a few students who had begun excitedly talking to their neighbors before addressing the girl's question. "Simpler, yes. As effective on magical entities, no." A few murmurs broke out again, and Severus noticed that many of the students were sitting a little straighter now, looking towards him with interest. He pressed a finger to his temple briefly before giving in. "Miss Granger has, in her usual interfering manner, managed to introduce a topic that is rarely discussed amongst pureblood families, but which is likely to cause confusion for those not raised in magical homes. Muggle birth control methods are effective against Muggle diseases; you must use magical means to prevent magical diseases."

Another round of murmurs went through his audience, and Severus fought the urge to sigh. Honestly, didn't any of them _know _this? Parents left more and more responsibilities to teachers these days. He actually did huff out an exasperated breath when Miss Granger's hand crept into the air again. He gestured at her to go on, no longer trying to maintain control of this ill-begotten lecture. Now that her curiosity was piqued, he knew the questions would be infinite.

"But are they—the Muggle methods, I mean—effective in preventing pregnancy?" She bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable, but the flush had faded from her cheeks a bit.

"That is where the experts differ. Some believe that Muggle methods are no match for magical, ah..." _Sperm. Magical sperm. Just say it. _No, he couldn't bring himself to do it, not in front of students that would never let him live it down. "Magical DNA. However, limited studies have shown that when the female is magical and the male is not, Muggle means are as effective as if both were Muggles. Nothing has been proven definitively, though, which is why you should not rely on Muggle methods alone."

Severus quickly scanned the room, noting that no one here had ever taken this much interest in his Potions lessons. Fervently hoping that he would never have to conduct this particular lesson again in his lifetime, he returned to his original subject matter and spent the next twenty minutes explaining the proper use and application of the Contraceptus potion and the _Nullus Gravida _charm. He also dispelled the common misconceptions of each. By the end, he felt certain that a majority of the students in the room would at least know better than to drink the watered-down Firewhisky being marketed as a sexual aid by the Weasley twins.

Writing his final notes on the board, he asked, "Are there any questions?" He did not bother to turn around and look. No one in the room was foolish enough to ask him anything, save one—and he could sense that her hand was in the air. The sensation of her eyes upon him was practically burning a hole in the back of his head. "No one? Very well. You are dismissed."

He waited until he heard the scuffling of hundreds of pairs of shoes before facing the room again. He growled when he saw Miss Granger still sitting primly in her seat, her hand held patiently in the air. "What _is _it, Miss Granger?" he snarled.

He felt moderately better when she flinched at his tone. Lowering her hand, she asked tentatively, "S-sir, I only wondered why—why we aren't taught things like this when we arrive at school? There must be just as many Muggle-borns and half-bloods here as purebloods, after all, and it seems that this is pertinent information."

"Unfortunately, I do not set the curriculum at this school," he answered snidely. "You will have to ask the Headmaster."

"Oh. Alright, then." She gathered her notebook—had she really been writing down everything he'd said?—and stood. "I'll be sure to tell him what an excellent job you did," she chirped as she moved towards the door. "Perhaps he will grant you the honor of presenting this particular curriculum in future."

Severus wished he was still young enough to get away with stamping a foot in frustration. Instead, he made good on his threat from the start of the lecture: "By the way, Miss Granger, sixty points from Gryffindor for interrupting me during the discussion."

He allowed a small smile as she stormed from the room with a scowl on her face.

* * *

**A/N: Honestly, with a prompt like chastity, what else can you do? The idea of Snape teaching sex ed class is certainly not original, but it makes me laugh every time.** **I didn't mean to get so technical with magical/Muggle birth control, but oh well. I hope you enjoyed it. This was primarily written for FireFlamesHopeEternal-so sorry about your accident, and I hope you get lots of yummy stories to read while you recuperate!**

**I am not JK Rowling, or else I would pay Alan Rickman great sums of Galleons to record sex ed speeches. Which I would then keep for myself. **


	5. The Case of the Unidentified Roast

**AU in that Snape is alive, otherwise canon-compliant.**

* * *

**The Case of the Unidentified Roast**

_prompt: sin_

Hermione speared another cut of tender meat as the serving platter made its way around the table again. This was her third helping, but she didn't think anyone was watching; and besides, Ron and Harry were easily on their fifth helpings. Hearing a disapproving huff, Hermione glanced up to see Professor Snape—no, just Severus now—glaring at her. Very well, she didn't think anyone _else _was watching. Delicately carving her bit of roast beef into smaller pieces, Hermione dug in with great gusto, closing her eyes and savoring the flavors on her tongue, ignoring the dark man sitting across from her.

All around her, former Order members, Weasleys, and friends were crammed into every available space at the Burrow for the monthly potluck dinner. After the final battle, there hadn't been much cause for continued Order meetings, and yet everyone had shown up at Grimmauld Place on the same night as if by unspoken consent. So, Molly Weasley had hastily prepared dinner, and the survivors had enjoyed an evening of companionship. Gradually, more and more friends and family began to arrive for dinner once a month, and Mr. Weasley had suggested they move the location to the Burrow.

Everyone agreed the location change had _nothing _to do with half the Order walking in on Harry and Ginny snogging on the staircase one night.

As the number of monthly dinner guests grew, Hermione had noticed the strain on Mrs. Weasley and suggested the idea of a potluck. After explaining to the witches and wizards that each person would bring a dish to share, thereby decreasing the burden on any one person, everyone had been amenable. The first month they'd tried it, though, dinner had consisted of no less than nine different variations of treacle tart and one lonely dish of badly burned carrots. The next month, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley had posted a sign-up to make sure that at a minimum, a meat, vegetable, and starch were available. Now that people had fallen into the swing of things, however, the sign-up was generally forgotten, and if they occasionally had one month without dinner rolls, then it was no great loss.

Hermione had been as surprised as everyone else when, at their November dinner, Professor Snape had strode into the house, his neck bandages inexplicably dyed black to match his clothing. He hadn't spoken to anyone, merely seated himself at his customary place towards the back, scowling at all who approached. Not a word was said about his sudden appearance and apparent release from St. Mungo's, and he seemed to prefer it that way.

In December, he had silently handed Molly a bowl of spinach salad before retreating to his seat by the fireplace, scowl and bandages firmly affixed.

In January, it was green beans and a nodded acknowledgement of Harry's stilted "Hello."

In February, it was grilled salmon and a raspy, "I am no longer your professor. Severus will do."

In March, it was a decadent chocolate cake, and he had hesitantly moved himself up to the main table.

By April, he was returning the greetings of those who said hello, and even occasionally making an observation or cutting remark while listening to others' conversations. He had even reluctantly thanked Arthur when Mr. Weasley had clapped him on the back and told him he was glad to see Severus looking so well.

And he _was _looking well, Hermione reflected. He seemed far less tense than he had during her last few years of school, and despite the black bandages at his neck, he seemed to be in generally good health. Not that his mood had improved much, however.

Now, it was May, and this dinner was a celebration of the one-year anniversary of the final battle. The Ministry would be hosting an official event at Hogwarts in a few days' time, but tonight was just for those who had been fighting on the front lines. The giant Nagini cake in the corner was swaying back and forth and hissing, a sword-shaped knife waiting at the ready to lop off the cake's head, no doubt an inappropriate idea of a joke from the Weasley twins' shop. Hermione's lip curled and she looked away from the grotesque cake.

This brought her gaze back to Prof—Severus. He seemed more on edge than he had at the past dinners and Hermione wondered why he didn't just smash the cake himself. Really, she didn't expect George to have _much _tact, but surely a little restraint wouldn't have been amiss. Her musings were interrupted by another pass of the serving tray with the roast beef. Hermione's hand shot out to halt the platter's progress, and she scooped two more slices onto her plate. The supply of roast beef was dwindling and she wanted to make sure she ate her fill.

Laughter and idle chatter filled the air as Hermione shoveled another few bites into her mouth. Sighing happily, she slumped in her seat a little, chewing slowly to savor her meal. She felt like a glutton, but she quickly pushed aside any feelings of guilt. She was still trying to gain back a bit of the weight she'd lost while they'd been on the run.

Using another piece of roast to mop up some spare gravy on her plate, Hermione couldn't help but moan a little as she tasted the rich sauce. Noticing a dollop on her finger, she quickly licked it off.

"Are you eating that roast or making love to it?" a low voice growled irritably.

Conversation stopped and all eyes turned towards Severus. Looking at him as well, Hermione realized he was glaring—at _her_.

She felt a flush creep into her cheeks, but she would not apologize for appreciating her food. "A little bit of both, I expect," she replied lightly, defiantly shoving the last piece into her mouth. She was pleased to note that Severus' eyes widened slightly and he scowled at her even more. Deciding she liked being cheeky when it annoyed him, she added, "Who made this, anyway? And who do I have to shag to get some more?"

Harry and Ron and some of the others laughed and returned to their conversations, but Mrs. Weasley looked strained. "Here's the platter, dear," she whispered, levitating the plate over to Hermione.

Hermione took another slice and, seeing Severus' brows furrow, aggressively speared a second piece as well. She stared at him the entire time she ate her meal, making sure she _ooh_ed and _aah_ed every time she took a bite, licking her lips appreciatively between forkfuls. Truly, it was delicious, so it wasn't a hardship; and it was definitely entertaining to watch the flush creep up Severus' pale cheeks.

As the others moved on to dessert, Severus seemed to lose his patience. He slammed his hands palm-first onto the tabletop and growled, "The way you eat that is positively sinful," before storming from the room. Hermione watched him go, confused and surprisingly disappointed.

Attempting to shrug it off, she focused on Ginny and Luna's discussions of their plans now that they were out of school. As coffee was served, the group broke apart and some began to drift outside while others took up seats in the crowded living room. Hermione stayed to help Mrs. Weasley clear the table, glancing around to make sure no one was looking as she licked the leftover gravy off the roast platter.

"You know Severus made the roast, don't you, dear?" Mrs. Weasley said from right behind her.

Hermione jumped and spun around. "I—what?"

"He was afraid you were making fun of him," Mrs. Weasley explained, her eyes shining with kindness and worry. "That's why he was a bit gruff with you."

Snorting ungracefully, Hermione replied, "He's always been more than 'a bit gruff' with me." Still, a feeling of unease was creeping in on her. She didn't want him to think that she hadn't been sincere—the roast truly had been the most amazing thing she'd ever tasted. Sighing, she realized an apology was in order, and she went in search of the brooding man.

She found him easily—he was the only person standing alone outside, just far enough away from the bonfire that he was not visible in the light from the flames.

"I wanted to apologize," she said softly as she approached him. "I didn't mean to embarrass you; I really was enjoying my dinner immensely."

"So immensely that you would, how did you so delicately put it, 'shag someone for more'?" he drawled.

Hermione felt a flush suffuse her features but she hoped he couldn't see it. She had to clear her throat before she was able to respond. "Um, yes. I did say that." She had no idea how to proceed—how did one tell one's former professor that she was quite possibly willing to be his devoted servant if only she could continue to eat so well? Perhaps a bit of humor would help. Looking everywhere but at his face, she joked, "I assure you that I won't hold you to it, however."

With the speed and stealth of a panther he stepped in front of her and leaned down so their faces were inches apart. "On the contrary, Hermione, I fully intend to hold _you _to it."

Her jaw dropped and her brain seemed to seize. He stood back and used one finger to lift her chin and close her mouth. "Perhaps in future you will be less inclined to display your hedonistic tendencies at the dinner table. Not that I am complaining, mind you, but I prefer not to share your moans of pleasure with the others."

He patted her smartly on the cheek and turned to stride towards the Apparation point just beyond the fence. She watched him go, her mind still sluggishly trying to keep up with this unexpected turn of events, but her body was already encouraging her to chase him down and offer to use her mouth for other pursuits.

"Who knew Snape was so good in the kitchen?" Ron asked as he walked up, startling her, his mouth full of toasted marshmallows. "Wonder what else he's secretly good at, hm?"

Hermione nearly choked at Ron's innocent question and hurried back to the house before she could supply him with all manner of skills that her imagination was currently ascribing—_in detail_—to the dark man. Perhaps she needed to invite Severus over for a two-person dinner party...

* * *

**A/N: Written for the OTP boot camp challenge on HPFC. When I saw the 'sin' prompt I wanted to do something a little different with it, so I imagined Hermione as a bit of a glutton. As a lover of a good roast beef myself, it was easy to write. :) I didn't really intend for it to take a romantic turn, but there you have it. **

**I'm not JK Rowling!**


	6. The Case of the Surprise Visitor

**Set about five years post-war, EWE, AU in that Snape survived the bite.**

* * *

**The Case of the Surprise Visitor**

_Prompt: waste_

"Miss Granger? There's a gentleman here to see you."

Hermione nodded at the young man who acted as a runner at the sprawling laboratories of Zinger & Zanger Potioneers, turning down the flame on her cauldrons and removing her dragonhide gloves. She wondered who had sought her out—it wasn't often that the labs received visitors, and the people who worked for Z&Z usually knew where to find her.

And they knew not to call her 'Miss Granger.'

Double-checking that nothing would explode in her absence, Hermione set off down the long hallway to the reception area, patting her hair into some semblance of order. Maybe it was her new intern from the school? Durmstrang's Headmaster had written her a week or so ago about tutoring a student interested in the potions field, but Hermione didn't think he was due to arrive until next week. Stepping into the lobby, she froze.

The man standing stiffly by the window was the very last person she ever expected to see here. She knew he detested Jakob Zinger—he'd told her so himself—and she also knew he'd rather have faced another Hogsmeade Valentine's weekend than come here to Z&Z willingly.

"Professor Snape. This is a surprise." She mentally applauded herself for not sounding as breathless as she felt.

He turned to face her, and Hermione was struck with the intensity of his gaze. One side of his mouth quirked and he drawled, "Not a pleasant surprise, though, I notice."

Hermione pressed her lips together to prevent herself from retorting. Instead, she pasted a polite smile on her face and asked, "Would you care to accompany me back to my lab? I have some experiments on the burners that shouldn't be left alone for too long."

He nodded and they set off back down the hallway. As the click of their shoes echoed down the cavernous space, Hermione racked her brain for something appropriate to say. _Get the hell out_ seemed a bit severe, but _Hello Professor, how are you? _was nicer than she felt capable of at the moment. Chancing a glance at the man keeping pace next to her, Hermione saw that he was resolutely facing forward, clearly as unhappy to be there as she was to see him. Very well then—they could continue their walk in silence.

Re-entering her lab, Hermione wordlessly handed Professor Snape a pair of protective glasses and spare gloves before pulling her own glasses and gloves back on. Checking the most volatile of her brews, she adjusted the flames simmering beneath the cauldron and stirred in another pinch of ground doxy. Professor Snape watched her from across the room, his eyes tracking her movements and no doubt searching for errors. It took all Hermione's focus not to lose her nerve, but she managed to cast the complicated spell to complete the potion under his intense stare.

Backing away from the wooden table, she leaned against an empty lab counter behind her, her arms crossed. "Did you just come to stare at me?" she asked when he made no move to speak.

"No," he answered, those black eyes still locked on hers, and she noted that even after five years his voice was still not quite the same as it had been prior to Nagini's attack.

"Well, you're doing a poor job of convincing me otherwise," she replied. He scowled and finally glanced around the room.

"I can see you have dispensed with all common courtesies at your lab of ill-repute," he sneered, and Hermione bristled. He spoke again before she could defend Z&Z. "I will therefore cut to the chase. On behalf of the Headmistress of Hogwarts, I extend our utmost wish that you will reconsider our offer and return to teach at the school."

Hermione huffed out a breath. "Professor McGonagall sent you all this way just to ask me to teach? Why didn't she just send an owl?"

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed as he looked back at her. "If my presence offends you so much, Miss Granger, I will—"

"You'll what? Leave? Jinx me? Tell me what an 'insufferable, over-eager, unknowledgeable, silly little girl' I still am?" Hermione drew a breath, fighting hard not to let her emotions carry her away—again. "I'm sorry, Professor, but my answer is still no. There's nothing more you can say to me that you haven't already, and glowering at me is not going to improve your chances. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing. I'll show you out."

Hermione made to step around him, but one arm snaked out and caught her about the elbow.

"Miss Granger—Hermione—not so fast," he growled. His use of her name stopped her in her tracks and she stared curiously down at the hand on her arm. He removed it immediately. "I did not come here to call you names," he ground out. "I came to beg, plead, and otherwise prostrate myself on the ground before you to convince you to return to England. Minerva made it quite clear that I am not to return unless—unless I return with you."

Facing him, Hermione was positive her mouth was gaping open. The idea of Professor Snape begging or pleading with anyone was simply preposterous. "Why?" she blurted out. "Why are you doing this?"

He pressed his lips together and looked away from her again. "Your talents are wasted here," he said flatly.

"Ha! Is that so?" Hermione couldn't help her disbelief. "You're the one who sent me here, Professor, so you'll have to try again."

Scowling, Professor Snape crossed his arms and tapped one finger against his bicep irritably. "I did not _send _you here, you silly girl. I simply refused to accept you as my own apprentice. You chose to throw your life away working for these dunderheaded fools."

"I see. Well, in that case, you may tell Professor McGonagall I _choose _to remain where I am, thank you very much." When Professor Snape turned to glare at her, she added, "I don't believe the atmosphere at Hogwarts would be very _welcoming_, you understand. Please do tell her I send my regards, though."

Hermione stomped over to her supply room, intending to begin preparations for the next round of potions. She resolutely ignored the imposing figure that followed her into the modest room, swiftly swerving around him or ducking under his arm as she gathered up her ingredients. Head held high, she returned to the laboratory and began to set out the tools she would need. He followed and stood very close behind her, practically breathing down her neck. She mentally chanted _be calm, be calm, be calm _even as she fumed at his presumption. How dare he show up here after five years and just—just _order _her to return to Hogwarts as though nothing had happened?

After he'd woken up in the Hospital Wing, Hermione had felt a huge sense of relief. He'd been on their side the entire time and she would never have forgiven herself if he'd died after she'd stood by and watched. Her guilt was the reason she'd cared for him personally while he recuperated, but her respect for the man was the reason she'd desperately hoped to train under his tutelage. The first time she saw him after he awakened, he'd awkwardly thanked her for retrieving him. She had waved it off and asked if she might be allowed to apprentice under him, and he had agreed.

Unfortunately, after regaining more of his consciousness (and his temper), Professor Snape had denied making such an offer at all, blaming instead the effects of the pain-killing potions he'd been under at the time. Disbelieving, Hermione had hounded him at every opportunity, begging him for the chance to learn from him. Perhaps it would have been better to have given him some space; regardless, his stance had not changed.

As the new school year approached, Hermione had grown desperate. All the best programs were making their apprentice selections, and Hermione made one last attempt to convince Professor Snape to take her on. Laying all her emotions on the table, she'd pleaded with him one last time, to no avail. He'd told her she was an insufferable, over-eager, unknowledgeable, silly little girl and that she had no place in a high-level academic environment. He'd unceremoniously tossed her out of his dungeon classroom and she had sent her application to Z&Z that afternoon.

After apprenticing under Jakob himself, Hermione had obtained her mastery in Potions and accepted Jakob's gracious (and entirely self-serving) offer of a job. She knew he prided himself on her abilities and took great pleasure every time one of her projects received international recognition. She suspected he also made sure to rub his former apprentice's success in the face of his nemesis—Severus—every chance he got.

Which was why it was that much more perplexing that Professor Snape appeared to be groveling at her feet now. _McGonagall must really have laid into him_, Hermione mused. Then a thought occurred to her and she wondered why she hadn't asked him sooner.

"If the Headmistress wants me to teach," Hermione articulated slowly, "does that mean you're retiring?"

"I suppose you'd enjoy that," he spat.

She dipped her head in acknowledgment. "It would rather change the situation, wouldn't it? I might be more—amenable—to her offer if I knew _why _she was offering."

The silence grew so thick that Hermione finally put down her knife and turned to look at the dark man behind her. His face was creased in an expression of deep contemplation, and Hermione was surprised to notice shame and embarrassment warring in the black depths of his eyes.

"You are without a doubt the most irritating piece of baggage I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Very well..." He took a deep breath before continuing in an aggrieved tone. "If you _must _know, the injuries I sustained during the final battle never fully healed, and my—_condition_—has deteriorated over the past years. As it stands now, I am unable to brew some of the more difficult potions, and myself and my Healer are both certain that things will continue in this trend until I am unable to brew anything at all. With that in mind, dearest Minerva has made it her mission to find me a suitable replacement while I am still capable of training him...or _her_." The last word was spoken with such venom that Hermione had no doubt about his feelings on the subject.

She stood there, dumbstruck, staring at him like he had suddenly Transformed into a unicorn. In all her angry wonderings about how he was faring without an apprentice as clever as her—for she was certain that no one else her age was as adept with potions as she was—she'd never imagined that he was facing the kind of troubles he'd just alluded to. She couldn't imagine how frustrating it must be for a man used to doing everything himself to have to rely on others for assistance with the most basic of tasks. It would drive her crazy within a week, that was for sure.

She sighed. This changed her stance quite considerably. If he'd come here merely to please McGonagall, that was one thing; but the fact that he'd come here out of necessity—well, she'd never been one to refuse to help where she was needed. _Bugger it all_. She'd have to explain to Jakob why she was leaving, and then there was the matter of her unfinished research projects. Her heart sank when she realized she'd be giving up her spot on the cutting edge experimentation with an anti-Cruciatus potion.

"If you are planning to accept the offer now out of pity, allow me to save you the trouble," he interrupted her mental to-do list. "I will still be the Potions Master at Hogwarts until I am entirely physically incapable of the position, which may take years, during which time you will be at my beck and call. Difficult potions will be brewed under my careful scrutiny and I will not spare you any criticism in deference to your Potions Mistress status. In short, think carefully before you decide to accept Minerva's offer, because I can guarantee that the next few years will not be pleasant for you. If that still sounds acceptable to you, then I will not be held accountable for your happiness and well-being once you arrive at Hogwarts. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Crystal," Hermione bit out, irritated at his little spiel. Perversely, she was even more inclined to take the job now—perhaps she would be able to annoy him as much as he annoyed her. At the very least, she'd be his equal in the lab now, so he couldn't frighten or punish her, and she would have more freedom to say what she thought. Squaring her shoulders, Hermione looked Professor Snape in the eye. "You may tell Professor McGonagall that you've been successful in your endeavor. And I imagine you'd like to come with me while I inform Jakob that you've stolen me away?"

Professor Snape remained motionless for a moment, apparently stunned that Hermione was accepting the offer despite everything he'd just said. Then he rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I would like that very much, indeed. Lead the way."

* * *

**A/N: I think I'm going to turn this into a two-parter, because I liked this set up a lot! I think the next part will be once they're back at Hogwarts and bickering like mad. I'm not JK Rowling and I get SO tired of saying that! It's like constantly rubbing salt in the wound.**


	7. The Case of the Sudden Seizure

**Set about five and a half years post-war, EWE, AU in that Snape survived the bite. T for a tiny bit of language!**

* * *

**The Case of the Sudden Seizure  
(or, The Case of the Surprise Visitor, part 2)**

_prompt: vicious_

"Must you always chop your asphodel roots so slowly?" the cutting voice remarked from just over her shoulder.

"I must always chop my asphodel roots so _precisely_, yes," Hermione replied. "If you'd rather I sacrifice the quality of my ingredients to do things your way, however, I would of course oblige you..."

An impatient huff was her only answer, and Hermione grimly continued her painstaking work. Professor Snape had been a nightmare to work with just as he'd promised nearly six months ago when he came to retrieve her from Z&Z. He constantly criticized everything about her, from her brewing habits to her personal hygiene, from her "ignorant opinions" to her "hopelessly moronic" friends, from her oversized ego to her oversized hair.

It hadn't taken Hermione long to realize, however, that he did so more out of frustration with his own situation than any personal vendetta against her. Oh, he still didn't much _like _her, that was obvious, but he had grudgingly admitted that she showed some degree of promise, and she was content to know that deep down (deep, _deep _down) he might possibly come to respect her.

No, his words grew harsher with each further deterioration of his physical abilities, and it was that knowledge that gave Hermione the super-human patience to deal civilly with him. If she suddenly found herself unable to perform the most basic of daily functions, she suspected she'd be rather cranky, too. So she did her best to let his insults pass her by and focused on the directives hidden amongst the barbs. Returning her attention to her work, she picked up her stirring rod and prepared to add the asphodel.

"You should be using the silver stirring rod. Even my first-years know that." Professor Snape's clipped words were even more pronounced today—Hermione knew him well enough by now to know that meant he was in more pain than usual.

"I don't need the solid silver stirring rod until later when I add the drop of unicorn blood. Before then, the silver-plated rod will suffice, and will save me the added step of purifying the silver rod in between stirring the potion and adding the blood," Hermione explained calmly. Honestly, the man _knew _what she was doing and why; he just refused to give her any credit at all.

"Perhaps you have been erroneously led to believe that the silver-plated rod will not compromise the properties of the—mmpf!"

Hermione sprang into action quickly as Professor Snape fell forward onto her, grabbing his shoulders and spinning them so they wouldn't fall onto the boiling cauldron. Struggling mightily, she lowered him to the ground, his dead weight making it difficult to lay him down gently. His entire body was spasming and his eyes were squeezed shut. He was clearly in a great deal of pain.

Firing off her Patronus to Madam Pomfrey, Hermione checked his vital signs and Summoned a seizure-halting potion. Deftly loosening the tight collar at his neck, she pried his mouth open and administered the potion, breathing a sigh of relief as his spasms slowed. She was brushing the hair away from his face when Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall burst in.

"Hermione? What's happened?" the Mediwitch asked her a touch frantically.

"We were just brewing when he had a seizure, I think," Hermione responded. "At least, he responded to the anti-seizure potion I gave him."

"Poor dear...I had hoped his last one was an unlucky occurrence." Madam Pomfrey levitated Professor Snape up to her waist-level and began to check his vital signs just as Hermione had done.

"This wasn't his first episode?" Hermione asked, concerned. Surely she ought to have been informed of the extent of his condition, given that she was in close proximity with the man nearly all day, every day.

"I'm afraid not," Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Something similar occurred last month at the staff meeting—I've never seen such a commotion as everyone tried to subdue his shakes. He's still refusing to make eye contact with most of the other professors."

"I'd forgotten about that one," Madam Pomfrey admitted. "I was thinking of the episode he had about a week ago during his nighttime rounds. Thankfully the Hufflepuff prefects found him on their way back to their common room or who knows what might have happened."

Hermione felt her heart sink. It seemed that Professor Snape's injuries were destroying his body at a faster and faster rate. Much as she detested his attitude, she hated to see anyone in obvious pain, especially a man who had given so much of his life to protecting Harry. Now that his seizure had passed, Professor Snape almost looked like he was sleeping, and Hermione marveled at how much younger he looked when his face wasn't contorted in anger or disdain. Looking up, she saw Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall conferring quietly.

"So what can we do?" Hermione asked briskly. He would clearly need some recovery time, and then there would need to be a treatment plan, and perhaps a pain management plan...

The two older women started as though they'd forgotten Hermione was present. Looking at her sympathetically, Madam Pomfrey patted Hermione's shoulder. "We'll take it from here, dear. You reacted marvelously. I'm sure Severus will be very thankful once he's rested up a bit."

Hermione doubted that very much, but she allowed the comment to pass, more interested in something else the Mediwitch had said. "Wouldn't it be prudent for me to become more familiar with his symptoms and their treatment? I'm with him nearly all day and quite often at night, so it makes sense for me to help with his care."

Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's quite noble of you, my dear, but I'm certain that Severus would not wish for a former student to be privy to the details of his personal health."

The Headmistress snorted indelicately. "If you think that Severus' wishes in the matter are going to deter Miss Granger, you don't know her very well." She softened her words with a smile at Hermione, which Hermione returned.

"I wouldn't need to know everything, just what I'm likely to come up against and how it's been treated in the past. Honestly, I was just lucky that I picked the anti-seizure potion tonight—if it hadn't truly been a seizure I could have done considerable damage." She frowned as she belatedly realized the truth of her words.

Madam Pomfrey exchanged a glance with the Headmistress before looking back at Hermione. "Very well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes looking out for him," the Mediwitch conceded. "But there are certain details I am not at liberty to divulge."

Hermione nodded her understanding and looked at Professor Snape solemnly. It seemed that she had just added another responsibility to her list of unpleasant duties.

~o~

A small shuffling noise registered in Hermione's brain and she stirred, wincing at the protestations of numerous cramped muscles. Gingerly stretching, she remembered that she'd come to watch over Professor Snape last night so that Madam Pomfrey could get some rest. It seemed that she'd fallen asleep in the bedside chair.

"Apparently I have died and gone straight to hell," her former professor grumbled. Hermione sat up fully and tried to tamp down her scathing response.

"No such luck, I'm afraid," she chirped instead. "You're in the Hospital Wing. You suffered a seizure yesterday in the lab. Madam Pomfrey wants you to rest for a day or two but otherwise declares you're as good as—" she stumbled over the word _new _and instead decided upon "—as you're going to get."

Professor Snape sat up, cursing under his breath as the abrupt change in position no doubt caused some additional pain, and flung the bedcovers off.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, panicking, as she leapt to her feet to try and stop the man who was now swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

"Leaving," came the curt reply. Hermione frantically glanced towards Madam Pomfrey's office but the Mediwitch was nowhere to be seen. Looking back at Professor Snape, she realized he was clad in nothing but a long hospital gown and that he was attempting to stand. She made a hasty decision and placed her hands on his shoulders, shoving him back towards the bed.

"You have to rest!" she exclaimed, terrified of the repercussions of putting her hands on her professor but even more concerned with the way his naturally pale face was quickly turning bloodless. "Professor, _please _lie back down!"

He glared at her but seemed to cease his forward movement. "I will do what I please and no silly little girl is going to dictate otherwise!" he snarled. "Remove your hands at once!"

"Only if you promise to lie back down," Hermione pleaded.

Professor Snape let out a feral growl but did as she asked. "I am only complying because the pounding in my head indicates it would be unwise to try to stand. It has nothing to do with you or that fickle-minded Poppy Pomfrey."

"Of course," Hermione agreed, choosing not to argue with him over this.

"Fickle, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she approached the bed. "That's interesting. I believe last time you referred to me as 'hopelessly stuck in my outmoded ways.' Well, I'm glad to know I've shown some improvement."

Hermione bit back a smile as the Mediwitch reached the bed and took over, checking Professor Snape's vitals and examining his eyes with a small light. Hermione turned to look out the small window, trying to give her former professor a degree of privacy. She had no doubt he would make her pay for this humiliation later, though.

"Is all this fuss really necessary?" she heard him ask Madam Pomfrey. "Surely one small spell of dizziness is not—"

"This is the third time it's happened, Severus, and a seizure is hardly a 'small spell of dizziness.'" Hermione heard Professor Snape cough awkwardly and turned to look at him again as Madam Pomfrey's lips pulled into a frown. "Ah, there have been more times and you haven't told me? Severus, how are we going to be able to help you if you won't allow it?"

"'We'? Don't tell me Miss Granger has offered to care for me, too." Since his sarcastic comment was actually true, Hermione thought it wise to remain silent and shared a glance with Madam Pomfrey. Apparently that was all the answer he needed, for he practically exploded out of the bed again. "No, Poppy, I will not allow it! No bloody Gryffindor know-it-all is going to come anywhere near me with the misguided notion of nurturing me. No."

He crossed his arms and took turns glaring at Hermione and Madam Pomfrey, his thin frame vibrating with anger. Hermione felt helplessly torn—should she back down and try to return their relationship to the way it had been prior to his episode, or should she forge ahead and do her best to look out for him? It was clear he needed more and more assistance on a daily basis and Hermione wasn't sure she _could _leave him be.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Severus. If it wasn't for Miss Granger's quick thinking, you might have suffered severe and permanent brain damage last night. Added to that, you've just given away that there have been other episodes of which I have not been made aware." Madam Pomfrey sighed and placed a gentle hand on Severus' shoulder. "All together...I'm afraid we can no longer stand by and watch as you attempt to muddle through on your own."

For a moment, it looked as though the life in Professor Snape's eyes had gone out: his face was almost unbearably defeated. Then the ire with which Hermione was so familiar roared to a blaze again.

"That's interesting, given that Miss Granger's tendency to 'stand by and watch' is what has landed me here in the first place!" he spat. Hermione recoiled. She had apologized for not doing more that night in the Shrieking Shack what felt like a hundred times, and she'd not tried to hide her guilt and disappointment in herself ever since she'd sat by his bedside close to six years ago. And yet he continued to throw it back in her face.

Hermione began to feel a little angry, herself. "Oh, I'd forgotten that _you _hadn't made any poor decisions when _you _were eighteen! No, Severus Snape has _always _walked the line of integrity!" she hurled at him.

Madam Pomfrey gasped but Hermione ignored her, advancing on Professor Snape. "I am _sorry _that we weren't able to help you that night. I am _sorry _to see what your life has become as a result. Hell, I'm even sorry that I was such an irritating, bothersome, know-it-all little bossypants for seven long years before that! But I will not continue to allow you to insult my intelligence, my character, or even my hair any longer. What's done is done and now we have to find a way to move forward. It's for your own good, you aggravating man!"

By the end of her tirade, Hermione found her finger jabbed into Professor Snape's chest, and she quickly pulled it back. For nearly a minute they stared at one another, Hermione's breaths coming in shallow pants as she began to worry that he would use an Unforgivable on her for her presumption.

Finally, however, the blank mask returned to his features. Professor Snape settled himself back on the bed and stoically faced away from the two women. "There is no need to be so vicious," he stated flatly. "If neither of you mind, I would like to rest now."

Throwing her hands in the air in frustration, Hermione turned and left his secluded corner, deciding to wait for the Mediwitch in her office. To her surprise, Professor McGonagall was standing just inside the doors to the Hospital Wing, a look of concern etched on her face. Drawing closer, Hermione stopped and stood with her old Head of House.

"How much did you hear?" she asked glumly, certain that a reprimand was imminent.

"Enough to know that Severus is still being stubborn," the Headmistress replied softly. Surprised, Hermione looked up, and Professor McGonagall gave her a grim smile. "Please don't give up on him yet, Miss Granger. He has been through so much, and it is terribly difficult for him to accept that people genuinely care about him."

"But I—" Hermione was about to protest that she _didn't _care about him, not like that, but she stopped. She suspected she'd be lying if she said she didn't, and that meant she had a great deal of thinking to do.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, okay, this is going to be a _three _parter! Because I can't just leave off here. Anyway, I have zero medical knowledge so if I've said something untrue regarding seizures feel free to let me know. I also have zero claim on Harry Potter or anything associated with it! (There, I found a different way to say 'I'm not JK Rowling'!)**


	8. The Case of the Unhappy Man

**Set about six and a half years post-war, EWE, AU in that Snape survived the bite. Definitely T for some strong language!**

* * *

**The Case of the** **Unhappy Man**  
**(or, The Case of the Surprise Visitor, part 3)**

_Prompt: jubilant_

The dimly-lit dungeon lab was silent but for the soft swish of knife blades and the gentle clink of stirring rods against pewter cauldrons. Hermione brushed a curl out of her face as she concentrated on mixing the infusion of wormwood into her potion _just so_. The potion she was brewing today was extremely difficult and the instructions were excessively detailed. She'd been practicing her technique for close to a week before finally beginning the actual brewing today. The ingredients were expensive and Severus hadn't wanted her to use them until she was relatively certain that she could brew the potion properly.

_Severus_. Sneaking a glance at the stoic figure beside her, Hermione tried to remember when he had gone from Professor Snape, the much-feared and often-dour enigma, to Severus, the still-dour but less-fearsome man. Over the past year, their relationship had become slightly less fraught with angry tension and more like a comfortable working partnership. Hermione had discovered that when he allowed himself to relax just a bit, Severus was actually rather interesting to converse with, and they had both grudgingly put aside their past grievances and attempted to move forward in a friendlier manner.

Of course, that may have been out of necessity on Severus' part. After his seizures started to occur more frequently, Hermione had discreetly moved her things to an unused dungeon bedroom. When he raised an eyebrow, she explained that she wanted to be closer to her research in the event that she had an idea in the middle of the night. After his legs began to weaken and he required a walking cane, Hermione had discreetly started to take more and more of her meals in his office with him. When he looked at her askance, she explained that she never particularly liked the noise of hundreds of children while she tried to eat anyway.

And after his fingers lost their ability to grip anything more substantial than a bowtruckle, Hermione had discreetly taken over his manual labor as well as much of his grading. When he opened his mouth to question her, she explained that she needed more of a challenge and found grading papers to be very mentally stimulating, thank you very much.

All in all, the past year had not been kind to Severus. Hermione was horrified at the accelerated rate at which his body seemed to be failing him. Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall had been less surprised by his rapid deterioration but remained grimly resolved to do everything they could to make him comfortable. So far, however, they'd been unsuccessful in convincing him to retire and take some time to himself. Hermione rather thought he was afraid of what would happen to him if he left the castle—at least here, there were hundreds of people who might keep an eye on him.

Hermione pulled her thoughts away from Severus' situation, though, as she neared a particularly complicated part of the procedure. She would have to move quickly, adding ingredients at a measured rate while she continued to stir. In the past, she would have been tasked solely with stirring while Severus added the herbs, but his hands were too unsteady for such a task now, and the entire brewing process was left to her. Focusing, she counted to make sure that all her ingredients were set where she could reach them.

"Ouch! Bloody_ fucking_ hell—"

The exclamation of pain and muffled cursing caused Hermione to drop her ingredients and stirring rod immediately, turning to assess the damage.

"Are you alright? What happened?" she asked calmly, her eyes running over his frame and quickly locating the blood flowing from his right hand.

"Knife cut," he grunted, cradling his arm and examining the wound as though it offended him.

Hermione reached out to take his hand in hers, casting a cleansing spell to get a good look. The cut was neat but deep—if they'd been Muggles, he would definitely have required stitches. Running her wand over the wound, she healed the cut, carefully making sure no trace of a scar was left behind. Then she cleaned the sleeve of his robes and checked the table for more blood. The knife lay bloodied next to a pile of diced fairy mushrooms—it seemed he'd been trying to push the pile closer to the cauldron with the knife as she worked so she wouldn't have to reach quite as far. It was thoughtful of him but sometimes Hermione wished he would just stop trying to be so stubbornly independent.

Wordlessly, she Vanished the now-congealed contents of her cauldron and began to clean up her work station. Some of the ingredients would keep, and she could use them for her next attempt; most, however, were perishable. Vanishing those, too, she repressed a sigh and set about preparing another batch of ingredients. She'd just have to start over.

She supposed she ought to be used to it by now. This wasn't the first time he'd injured himself or interrupted a brewing session with a mishap of some kind. He had very little control of his limbs any more and his strength was greatly decreased. But still he insisted on doing as much in the lab as he possibly could. Hermione would be impressed with his determination if she didn't spend so much time dealing with the results. For a long time he hadn't trusted her with his injuries, but slowly she'd proven herself capable and he had gradually given in. She suspected his acquiescence had less to do with her healing skills and more to do with the fact that she never chastised him or gloated. She simply stopped what she was doing, fixed him, and moved on.

Two months ago he'd finally offered a reluctant 'thank you' and Hermione had been so stunned she could only nod. Now it was their routine—heal, thanks, nod, back to work. Unfortunately it was occurring more and more often as of late, and Hermione wondered how much more his body could really withstand.

Just then, his voice drew her out of her musings. "Why are you here?" he asked her coldly.

"We've been over this, Severus; I'm your assistant for the time being, and my job comes with certain responsibilities, such as helping you prepare and brew potions." She recited her spiel with practiced boredom—they had this conversation nearly every other week, whenever he grew irritated with her.

"No. I mean, why are you—why have you stayed here, with me, for so long? I am not easy to get along with. I purposefully make things difficult for you. Surely someone as bright as you has other, better prospects?" His genuine confusion took her aback. Surely he didn't think she was just going to skip off to another job, abandoning him to his fate? Looking at his face, Hermione realized that yes, he thought _exactly _that. Her heart thumped painfully for him and she set down her knife, leaning against the table to stare at him.

"Do you remember when Cedric Diggory died?" she asked softly. He furrowed his brows and frowned.

"Obviously. That was the night the Dark Lord returned."

Hermione winced. She hadn't meant to remind him of that. "Yes. Well, at the end of term feast, Dumbledore gave a speech, and he said, 'Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort.'" Hermione paused and looked at Severus intently, realizing now that Dumbledore's words applied to this boy, as well. "It always kind of stuck with me," she admitted quietly. "I know you're not easy, Severus, but that doesn't matter. Staying here with you is what is right. If you want to get rid of me, you'll have to try harder."

For a moment, Hermione was amazed at the depth of feeling that showed in Severus' eyes. If she looked closely, she almost thought she saw—tears? But that couldn't be. Just as swiftly, however, his uncaring mask slid back into place and one lip curled as he sneered at her.

"So I am the great Gryffindor princess' charity case, am I? How flattering. I am honored." He grabbed his cane and began to hobble away in as dignified a manner as he could. Something in Hermione snapped then. All her patience, all her understanding, all her sympathy disappeared like it had been Disillusioned.

"How _dare _you?" she hissed, stalking towards him and standing in his way. "I don't pity you at all, Severus. You made your choices in life and you've had to live with them. And you know what? Some of them were pretty terrible choices. But there's nothing, _nothing_, stopping you from being happy _now_ except your awful attitude."

"You are forgetting my horrendous physical disabilities," he drawled, holding up one gnarled, trembling hand. "Or have you somehow managed to convince yourself that things aren't as bad as they seem?"

"Things _aren't _as bad as you seem to think," she retorted. "You're alive, aren't you? You're not confined to a bed. You're still teaching even if you're not brewing. You're surrounded by people who care about you, even if you choose not to see it. Your mind is still as sharp as it ever was—believe me, I'd have noticed if it wasn't." Hermione crossed her arms and glared at him, daring him to contradict her.

"Yes, I am still alive, but for how much longer?" he snapped, his voice quavering slightly. Hermione realized then that _this _was the reason for lashing out—he was afraid. Just as quickly as it had come, her anger disappeared.

"Who knows?" she asked him, shrugging. If he was going to be honest, so was she. "You may yet have years left, Severus. Or maybe you only have days. But why dwell on it? If you're truly so afraid that death is imminent, why don't you go do something that makes you _happy_? Why not travel, or read every book you've ever wanted to read, or—or buy an invisibility cloak and terrorize Muggles? I don't understand why you're sticking around here, sniping at me, and why you refuse to allow yourself to be happy for once in your life."

The black eyes held the brown for a long moment, one pair full of sincerity and the other full of wariness. Then Severus looked down at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes, as he mumbled, "It would seem..." He cleared his throat and continued more forcefully: "It would seem that 'sticking around here and sniping at you' _is _what makes me happy."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Of all the unexpected... She recovered quickly, however, taking a step towards him and smiling as his eyes raised uncertainly to hers. "Well, that is interesting," she said, "because at some point I realized sticking around here and being sniped at by you is apparently what makes me happy as well."

Ever so slowly, a tiny smile touched Severus' lips, drawing Hermione's attention. An idea formed in her head and she took another step forward.

"I wonder," she whispered as she leaned closer, "whether _this—_" she briefly pressed her lips to his, "makes you happy as well?"

Severus' eyes went wide in his pale face and Hermione held her breath. If she was wrong—if he didn't feel that way about her—then she was about to be cursed into next week. If she was right, though—

"No," he said clearly. An embarrassed flush crept over her cheeks and she started to step away, but one of his arms locked around her waist with surprising strength for such a frail man. "One small kiss was hardly enough to judge by," he murmured, his insecurity showing in his hesitant words.

"Of course," Hermione murmured back. Allowing him to draw her closer, she placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled his face to hers, lips touching gently at first. When she felt his answering pressure, she tilted her head and opened her mouth to his questing tongue, her entire body suffusing with heat. Feeling him sway unsteadily, Hermione released his mouth and placed a hand on the countertop to balance them both.

"Well?" she asked, her voice husky. "Does that make you happy?"

"Not happy," he answered. "Jubilant."

When he reached for her again, Hermione went willingly, smiling as his lips crushed hers. Yes, jubilant was an apt description.

* * *

**A/N: I couldn't resist a bit of fluff at the end. Anyway, that will end this little continuation of one-shots and it'll be back to the realm of unrelated with the next one!**

**_Like, OMG you guys, I'm totes not JKR! LOL!_**


	9. The Case of the Arabian Night

**EWE, Snape lives, you know the drill.**

* * *

**The Case of the Arabian Night**

_Prompt: breathless_

Severus stepped onto the small portico outside the staff room, gratefully inhaling huge gasps of the chilly night air. The contrast between where he was now and the place he'd just left was vast—outside, it was a frigid Scottish winter; inside, however, it was hot and humid as the desert in summer. And nearly as stifling.

Suffice it to say that Severus no longer held any doubts about who had actually been the impetus behind Hogwarts' many lavish Christmas staff parties. He'd always thought that Minerva McGonagall had been the restraining force to Dumbledore's wild notions, but now—now he knew better. The witch was out of control.

This year's staff party was Moroccan themed and even more out of hand than last year's "deserted island" fiasco. Every inch of the staff room was covered in rich silks: they disguised the walls, draped the ceiling, and even adorned many of the women. Severus shuddered when his mind conjured the image of Pomona and Rolanda in the gauzy material.

Minerva hadn't held back in her party planning, it seemed. The small, brightly colored sofas were interspersed with patterned ottomans; the metal lanterns appeared to contain actual Arabian fairies; and the food—just thinking about the richness of the meal he'd devoured made his stomach lurch a bit. It had been bloody delicious, though, so he supposed a little indigestion was worth it.

The overpowering scent of smoke from the authentic hookahs had begun to grate on him, however, which was why he was currently hiding—that is, taking a refresher—on the portico. A loud roar of applause reached his ears just then, reminding him of the _other _reason he was seeking refuge in the cold night air.

_Dancing_. Even the word made his lip curl derisively. Minerva had, in all her infinite wisdom, hired belly dancersfor the evening's entertainment. He'd managed to ignore the scantily-clad women while he ate, but after the meal he hadn't much cared for watching them gyrate. The final straw had been when they asked if anyone in the room wanted to learn a few basic moves, and the aforementioned Pomona had leapt up immediately. He'd decided to clear the room before he saw anything he wouldn't be able to un-see without a self-inflicted _Obliviate_.

He scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all. He would have skipped this party—and, truthfully, every other staff event, party or otherwise—if it hadn't been written into his contract to attend. What's worse, Minerva had insisted that "acceptance" of her invitation construed agreement to the night's mantra: "Free your inhibitions." As if a bunch of inebriated old fools needed any encouragement to behave like baboons. _They aren't _all _old_, an inner voice pointed out.

Hermione Granger was the newest addition to Hogwarts' staff this year, stepping in as the new Arithmancy professor now that Septima Vector had moved to the continent. Her presence had thus far been slightly less grating than he had originally envisioned, but he refused to concede anything more than that. Unfortunately, it seemed that the magic imbued in Minerva's invitations affected everyone differently, and for Miss Granger, it meant that she was incapable of controlling her infamous mouth.

Not that Severus was convinced she ever exercised much control over it anyway.

Still, within five minutes of entering the party, the girl had announced that she'd always wanted to be swept away by an dark-haired prince and ravished on a heap of pillows. Her fiery blush confirmed that she hadn't wanted to say it, but Minerva had simply laughed and gestured her further into her den of sin.

Rubbing a finger over his temple, Severus grimaced when he recalled the loose inhibitions of his fellow colleagues. Apparently Flitwick had quite the fascination with cross-dressing, for the diminutive fellow had immediately Transfigured his robes into a silk get-up mirroring Pomona's. Pomona, meanwhile, was enjoying the use of every naughty word in her vocabulary. Minerva was imbibing the heavy red wine at an alarming rate, and she and Rolanda appeared to be engaged in a battle of who could tell the most outlandish story. Severus grimaced as he remembered that the stories had grown raunchier with each round. But that wasn't even the worst of it-Sybill Trelawney had taken to following him about the room and professing her undying devotion for him while simultaneously predicting his early and tragic demise. Severus' stomach clenched in warning and he quickly turned his thoughts to something else.

He suspected that his own inhibitions had been rather more difficult for Minerva's magic to release, as he couldn't recall acting much differently than usual. Yes, he had perhaps eaten and imbibed more than usual, but the house-elves had outdone themselves with the rich Moroccan food, and the Arabian wine was a treat. And perhaps he had rather allowed himself to relax a bit, but that was simply because the cushioned sofas were quite comfortable.

And _perhaps _he had allowed his eyes to linger over Granger's silk-clad form, but he assured himself that he was merely focusing on the one sight in the room least likely to make him ill.

Another cheer went up in Minerva's lair of temptation, and now Severus could hear the throb of drums as the musicians beat a fast tune. Idly he wondered if he had stayed long enough to fulfill his contractual obligations, and whether he could sneak back through the makeshift tent to his own quarters. As his fellow professors made the loudest ovation yet, he decided to have at it. He would use their obvious distraction to his advantage and be back in his rooms before anyone thought to miss him. Slipping back into the sultry heat of the party, Severus glanced to the front of the room where everyone was gathered—and his mouth fell open.

Granger, silk shimmering and ridiculous hair flying, was standing in the center of the circle with a belly dancer on each side, and she was _dancing_. No—she was _gyrating_. Severus' heart began to pound in time with the drums and he felt his throat run dry. Suddenly the presence of all the others seemed to fade away, and it was as if he and she were the only two in the room.

Still gobsmacked, he watched her spin around and around in time with the other dancers, and her hips shimmied and rolled with the best of them. She laughed, throwing her head back in sheer delight as they hopped, spun, and twirled their way around the circle. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her brow, but Severus thought she had never looked more lovely.

Er, more aggravating. She had never looked more aggravating. He didn't know where the L-word had come from.

The drums slowed a bit then, and Granger took the opportunity to reach out and pull Minerva into the fray. To his surprise, the stately witch merely smiled and joined in, gesturing for Rolanda to join her. Soon, all the professors were rotating their hips—or attempting to. Laughing again, Hermione clapped her hands together merrily and slipped out of the circle. As she made her way to the refreshments table, Severus found his own feet moving him there as well.

Standing just behind her, Severus noted several things. Firstly, Hermione was greatly out of breath, and secondly, she smelled wonderful. Like hot summer nights and exotic spices. Inhaling deeply, Severus wondered if he could recreate the scent in his lab.

Just then, she turned to rejoin her colleagues and Severus didn't have time to take a step backwards before she ran into him. Grabbing her elbows to steady her, he noticed one of her gold hair clips had fallen to the floor, and he bent down to rescue it. Straightening again, he looked down into her flushed face and sparkling eyes.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were there," she said, still breathless.

"Indeed," was all he could manage. They were standing far too close for his comfort, and yet part of him was urging him to move closer still. He'd be damned if he gave into Minerva's magical inhibition-looseners, though.

Holding the bauble up, Severus asked her, "Where do you want it?"

Inexplicably, Hermione's flush deepened and her eyes widened, but she never took her gaze off of his. "Anywhere you want to give it to me, I suppose," she replied, somewhat shyly.

Confused, Severus continued to stare down at her. "Here is fine," he stated, wondering at her answer.

She swallowed audibly and her tongue came out to wet her lips. He experienced a nearly-uncontrollable urge to kiss her. Her eyes darted to either side of him before returning to his face. "Aren't you...disturbed...by the thought of people watching?" she asked, her voice unusually husky.

"It hasn't bothered me in the past," he answered. He just wanted to replace the girl's bloody hair clip and escape to the solitude and relative comfort of his private rooms, but she was making things exceedingly hard. Her mouth rounded in surprise and she wet her lips again.

Yes, certain things were becoming quite hard indeed.

"Then by all means," she murmured, stepping closer to him. He could feel the silk of her outfit brushing against the wool of his robes, and his arms actually twitched with the impulse to seize her and snog her senseless. What was _wrong _with him?

"Hermi—Granger. I insist you remove yourself from my personal space at once."

"But, Severus, how will you shag me then?" Immediately, Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, her expressive eyes full of embarrassment.

"Shag you?!" he croaked. "What are you on about?"

"You asked me—you asked me where I _wanted it_," she hissed. "I thought—the inhibition remover—oh, Merlin's balls!"

Judging by the way her face was now crimson enough to rival some of the silks in the room, Severus could easily guess what she had _thought _he'd asked her. Groaning, she covered her eyes with her hands.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't realize—that is, I assumed—"

"You assumed Minerva's little trick made me want to have sexual relations with you." Severus all but growled at her, unaccountably amused that she would not look at him.

"Well, yes. After all, I've been unable to keep my thoughts to myself all night, and I thought it might have affected you the same way. I did think it was rather bold of you to ask, sir, but since I am amenable I decided not to quibble over—"

"You—you're amenable?" Severus choked out. "To—sexual relations? With me?"

Still keeping her eyes covered, Hermione immediately answered, "Oh yes. I want to lick every inch of you and then let you shag me into next week. Oh! And now I wish to be swallowed up by some carnivorous pillows. Excuse me while I—"

She attempted to blunder past him, but with her hands still covering her eyes, he caught her and pulled her to him easily. Stepping back behind some of the silk wall hangings, he checked to ensure that none of the others had seen them. Fortunately-or perhaps _unfortunately_-everyone else was still enjoying their dancing. Letting the curtain of silk fall around himself and Hermione, Severus returned his attention to the enticing girl in front of him.

"Tell me what else you want," he murmured into her ear, unashamedly using Minerva's meddling to his advantage. He felt Hermione shudder and he watched, fascinated, as her flush crept down her neck.

"I want _you_," she purred, a statement which was somewhat marred by the squeak of dismay that followed it. "And I want to hex Minerva. And oh, god, I want to be able to keep my tongue in check!"

"But I can think of so many better uses for your tongue," he whispered, tracing the shell of her ear with his own tongue. He didn't know what had come over him, but now that he knew of Hermione's mirroring desire, he didn't particularly care. In fact, perhaps he would send Minerva a nice Christmas gift to say thank you.

Hermione moaned as he licked a path down the side of her neck to her collarbone. Severus lowered his head still further, trailing his tongue along the edge of her scalloped bodice. He felt her hands leave her face and tangle themselves in his hair.

He took it as a sign to let his remaining control slip.

Hoisting her up against the wall, Severus pressed his lips to hers over and over. Their open-mouthed kisses left him breathless after a while, however, and he pulled back only enough to give them a bit of air.

"I am no Arabian royalty, but I would be honored to ravish you wherever you'd like."

Finally able to look into her eyes, Severus was surprised when she laughed delightedly. "I don't need Arabian royalty," she explained. "I believe what I said was that I wished to be ravished by a 'dark-haired prince', and you _are _a dark-haired Prince, aren't you?"

Still laughing, Hermione tightened her hands in his hair and pulled his lips back to hers. Tangling his tongue with hers, Severus made a mental note to suggest that Minerva use the same inhibition loosener for next year's party. Then Hermione moaned, and he stopped thinking much at all.

* * *

**A/N: It occurs to me that I've gotten away from the "mystery" aspect of these, so I will try to rectify that with the next one-shot. In the meantime, though, I've had this one in mind for a long time and finally sat down to crank it out. I'm sorry the ending is a bit abrupt, too, but I wanted to keep this within its rating and you're free to decide what happens next. :)  
**


	10. The Case of the Winter Vampire

**EWE, Snape lives.**

* * *

**The Case of the Winter Vampire**

_Prompt: into the fire_

Severus sat stiffly in the open carriage, glaring at the sky and daring the falling snowflakes to land on the pristine black of his cloak. He did not turn and look when Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick clambered in, rocking the carriage about while they settled into their seats. He did not respond when Minerva climbed aboard, asking, "Is this everyone?" He did not even bother to sneer when he noticed that all three of them had crammed onto the bench opposite him rather than sit beside him. In fact, as the carriage rolled off towards Hogsmeade, he would not have even relented enough to look away from the snow had it not been for the shouting.

"Wait! Wait for me!"

Hogwarts' most legendary professor (aside from him, of course) was scrambling down the hill towards them, curly hair a-bouncing and loosened scarf a-flapping. Smirking as the carriage continued to pick up speed rather than stop—Severus decided to buy the thestral a treat in Hogsmeade—he watched as Hermione Granger nearly lost her footing in the deep snow as she tried to catch up.

"Oooh, please, wait!" She waved uselessly at the thestral pulling the carriage. Minerva, Filius and Pomona were all shouting at the great black beast to halt as well, but Severus knew the thestral would do what it had been ordered to do and would not cease its plodding. Settling more comfortably into his seat, Severus crossed his arms and enjoyed the spectacle.

Hermione's face was flushed and her cloak was askew as a result of her race to the carriage. He quite enjoyed seeing her so distraught. If she failed to catch up, it would mean at least a thirty minute walk in the frigid cold and ever-increasing precipitation. It served her right for not being at the appointed departure area on time. Chaperoning Hogsmeade weekends was hardly his favorite duty, yet _he _had still managed to be seated in the carriage well in advance. He suppressed a chuckle as she came close enough to lob her bag into the carriage, then he quickly shoved it far, _far_ under the bench with one booted foot.

Severus watched as Hermione began to sprint, trying to draw even with the carriage. Pomona was leaning over the rail, helping hand outstretched. Students were leaning out of the carriages in front of them, eager to see how things would play out. Minerva and Filius were calling their encouragement. Then, Hermione neared the opening where the steps folded down, reached for Pomona, and half-leapt, half-fell clumsily into the rolling carriage. The momentum carried her past the empty space on the bench next to him, and he found himself with a lapful of Gryffindor.

"Whew! For a second there I didn't think I was going to make it!" Hermione thrust a number of curls out of her eyes and grinned broadly at the occupants of the carriage. "Thanks, Pomona!"

The portly head of Hufflepuff replied that it was no trouble at all, but Severus was not paying attention. Hermione still had yet to shift away from him, and he found her warm weight far too disconcerting for his peace of mind.

"Remove yourself from my person at once," he stated coldly.

The other professors all ceased their excited chattering and stared at him. Scowling, Severus reflected that it was hardly as though being unpleasant was out of character for him—didn't they all deal with him on a daily basis? Why were they all glaring at him?

"I'm sorry, Prof—Severus." Hermione's cheeks, already flushed from the cold and her exertions, now grew an even deeper shade of red as she started to slide off of his lap. Then she stopped and looked down. "Um, it might be easier for me to move to my own seat if you'd remove _your _hands from _my _person," she informed him, sounding both surprised and amused.

Severus followed her gaze and saw to his horror that his hands were wrapped securely about her waist. When had _that _happened? Releasing her at once, he returned his glare to the clouds above, but not before he caught the self-satisfied smile she aimed at him. _Humph. _Ever since she'd joined the staff at the school, she hadn't been the slightest bit intimidated by him. It was bloody annoying.

He still remembered her first day at the castle. She'd had her nose in a book, as usual, and nearly run him over as she walked through the corridors without looking where she was going. He'd dropped his papers to steady her, only to realize that she didn't require his assistance. He had reacted angrily, hastily Summoning his papers while he snarled, "I see that you are no more graceful now than you were when you were a student."

To his amazement, she'd lowered her book and looked, really _looked_, at him before bursting into laughter. He'd stood awkwardly while she composed herself, and then she'd apologized—sincerely. She'd even offered to come scrub cauldrons one evening to make it up to him, but he'd been so surprised by her reaction that he'd merely stormed off.

Since that day, she hadn't been at all fearful of him, and he could not figure it out. At one point in time he'd thought she might be stalking him, because she always sat next to him at meals and faculty meetings, and they usually ended up on patrol duty together. He'd quickly disabused the notion that she was seeking him out, however, because it only made sense as the newest addition to the staff that she would be forced to take the least pleasant seats and patrol schedules. And he'd further ignored that notion because he found that he rather liked the idea of Hermione Granger deliberately spending time with him far too much.

Severus spent the rest of the ride into Hogsmeade pondering Hermione's motivations. She was relaxing on the bench next to him, chatting animatedly with the other professors. Despite his less-than-encouraging attitude at her placement in his lap, he noticed that she hadn't scooted to the far end of the bench to avoid him. One of her cloaked hips was pressed lightly against his, and Severus became more and more aware of that fact with every bump in the road. She'd certainly never shied away from him, even during her school days; he eventually decided it was just in her nature to treat all people with respect and warmth. He barely resisted a snort as he thought, _Typical Gryffindor._

Once in Hogsmeade, the professors parted ways. Severus visited the apothecary and the small bookshop in between chastising students and looking for couples snogging in the alleyways. The Christmas Hogsmeade weekend was the worst one to chaperone—something about the festive greenery and cheery melodies and chilly temperatures always put students in the mood for romance. However, Severus usually consoled himself with the massive removal of house points.

He was just entering the Hog's Head Inn when a flash of flying red caught his eye. Stepping closer to the window near the fireplace to get a better look, Severus was just in time to watch Hermione launch herself into the waiting arms of a person with a very familiar head of messy black hair.

Potter. Scowling, he watched as Hermione hugged the famous Auror—rather too enthusiastically for Severus' taste—before turning her attentions to the other person in the roadway: Weasley. That explained the red, then. Continuing to glare, Severus watched the happy reunion with envy that he forgot to disguise. The three were excitedly chattering away, even as students began to approach the famous group. Hermione's celebrity status had worn off from all but the veriest first-years; seeing her daily in the classroom and having her destroy your homework attempts on a weekly basis worked to quickly disabuse you of any fanciful notions. However, it seemed that many of the students were eager to shake hands with The Boy Who Lived and his Trusty Sidekick.

Eventually the crowd thinned and the famous trio began to make their way to the Three Broomsticks. Severus craned his neck to follow their progress, but he was startled when Aberforth began yelling.

"FIRE! YER ON FIRE!"

Looking around curiously, Severus wondered who the grouchy old man was shouting at. Judging by the number of people staring in his direction, though, he got an uneasy feeling...

The heat on his leg registered about the same time as did Aberforth racing towards him with a bucket full of dirty water. Not wishing to be doused with the foul stuff, Severus hurried out onto the street and attempted to stamp out the flames on his cloak without much luck. The fire was determinedly spreading, as he hadn't thought he'd need his flame-resistant laboratory cloak on a blasted field trip.

Hoping that Hermione and her sycophants weren't witness to this humiliation, Severus turned his head in the direction they'd gone—and saw Hermione racing back towards him. Bloody hell. Potter and Weasley were following, wands out, no doubt eager to hose the bane of their childhood existence down with frigid water.

Unexpectedly, however, Hermione did not cast an Aguamenti charm. Instead, she leapt on him, knocking him to the ground and falling down with him. For a moment there was a fierce struggle as Severus attempted to dislodge her and Hermione attempted to roll him about in the snow. Finally, his panic faded and he ceased fighting her. Hermione was still pressing him into the snow, looking towards his legs and feet as she kicked more snow over top of him. Severus watched the concentration on her face with reluctant amusement until her wiggling began to create another problem entirely.

"Professor Granger." No response. "Miss Granger. Hermione! Stop!"

She seemed to freeze in place, as though her brain was finally registering what she'd done and where she was currently located. Slowly turning to face him, Hermione grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Severus. My parents always taught us to stop, drop, and roll in case of fire, and I thought the snow might help—"

Cutting her off, mindful of their audience, he said, "For the second time today, Professor, please remove yourself from my person."

Hermione's lips formed a pout for the merest of seconds before she sat up and lifted herself off him, brushing the snow from her jacket while refusing to look at him. Severus stood as well and glared at the gawping children around them. "Well? Nothing to see here, get back to your business!" he snapped out.

If he wasn't mistaken, Potter and Weasley were very much caught between amusement and leftover childhood terror. Severus straightened his shoulders as tightly as they would go and glided away without another word. He'd no doubt have to thank Hermione later, but damned if he was going to stoop to that level in front of her cohorts.

Unfortunately, Severus was unable to corner Hermione alone for the remainder of their Hogsmeade visit. Potter and Weasley stayed on well into the afternoon, and then she managed to disappear while he was dealing with some errant Hufflepuffs. His mood even blacker than before, Severus wasn't surprised when none of the other teachers opted to join him in the carriage to return to school. He watched as Minerva, Filius, and Pomona began the long walk back to Hogwarts, wondering where Hermione could have gone.

The carriage started forward with a jolt, and Severus quickly hopped down, watching as it returned to the school devoid of passengers. Was it possible Hermione had returned earlier in the day? Had he offended her so greatly that she couldn't even bear to ride back to school with him? Casting one last glance around the departure point, Severus caught a glimpse of her unruly hair as she bounded down the lane.

"Oh, dragon balls, I missed it again!" Hermione wailed, coming to a stop where the carriage had recently stood.

"Such language, Professor," he admonished, stepping towards her. She jumped nearly a foot in the air before turning to face him.

"You startled me," she stated breathlessly.

"An unnecessary statement on your part," he returned. For a long while they stared at each other, before both speaking at once.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude—"

"Here, I bought you this—"

Both stopped. Hermione was holding out a brightly wrapped Blood Pop, her brown eyes imploring him to take the gift.

"What is this for?" he inquired, genuinely curious.

"I'm sorry for knocking you over in front of everyone. It wasn't—I don't always think like a witch. I should have just cast a Dampening Spell."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I am sorry I reacted unfavorably when you quite nobly attempted to save my life." He allowed one corner of his mouth to twitch up in a smile. "Although I suppose it has merely canceled out the time during your first year when you deliberately set me on fire."

She had the grace to blush, but she thrust the lolly towards him again. "Please take it, anyway. I thought you might particularly like these."

Now one eyebrow rose on his forehead. "And why is that, pray tell?"

"I... That is to say, you—everyone always—well, they say you're a vampire!" At his expression, her face set in indignant defiance. "I thought it was quite funny. And I had the devil of a time picking out something I thought you'd like. It's why I missed the carriage."

For once amused at the rumors about him, Severus gingerly accepted the Blood Pop from Hermione. Their fingers brushed and he thought that her cheeks grew even more flushed—but then again, it might have just been from the cold.

"In that case, I am honored. I do happen to enjoy these, although I am sure you realize by now I am not a vampire."

Hermione began to walk up the path to the castle. "Well, that's one mystery solved then, isn't it?" She rolled her eyes at him as he caught up to her. "Honestly, I had that figured out by the end of the first week of classes. If you _had _been a vampire, you could hardly have taught Potions, could you? All the various blood ingredients would have rendered you completely inattentive to anything else, and you were _never _inattentive."

A full smile graced his mouth now at her childhood reasoning. He briefly wondered whether any other students had bothered to put any thought into that rumor, and then realized that no, they probably hadn't. Only Hermione Granger.

"Let me guess. You went to the library and Madam Pince found you some books on vampires?"

"Of course! It's not funny, you know," Hermione chastised him playfully. "Someone had to be the level-headed one."

"Yes. I can tell that you are very level-headed. Just today, you saw a few flames and decided to throw me to the ground and roll about on top of me. If I didn't know better, I would say you just wished to ravish me."

Severus watched the very interesting play of emotions cross Hermione's face, attempting to judge her response. He was teasing her, of course, and yet he couldn't deny that he hoped she'd confess that he was right.

She halted on the path and turned to face him. "Are you—_teasing _me?" She was incredulous.

"I have been known to—"

Hermione swatted him on the arm, grinning, but in the next second she was wheeling her arms around madly, trying not to fall. Severus grabbed for her but it was too late; she fell hard on the icy path, the wind knocked out of her.

Concerned, he sank to his knees. "Are you hurt?" he asked seriously.

Hermione merely blushed before scrambling back to her feet and marching forward. Uncertain, Severus stood and followed after her, but it wasn't long before she lost her footing again. This time, however, he was prepared, and he managed to grab hold of one arm and keep her upright. He decided to simply retain his grasp of her, and slid his hand down to curl around hers. After a brief pause, Hermione returned his grip, but didn't say anything.

They continued in this fashion for another few meters, with Hermione or Severus slipping every few paces. Neither spoke, and Severus wasn't sure how to break the tension that seemed to have sprung up. Perhaps he had overstepped his bounds when he'd suggested that she wanted to ravish him. Or worse...maybe he'd disgusted her.

They'd just entered the castle grounds when Hermione slipped spectacularly, sliding backwards a bit down the path and colliding with Severus. Grappling at his shoulders for purchase, she ended up pulling them both down onto the snowy ground. Hermione moaned a little at the impact, but then, inexplicably, she started laughing.

"Bloody carriages pulled by bloody thestrals!" she said between chuckles, and Severus couldn't help but join in, laughing at the absurdity himself. After a few moments, their laughter had slowed, and Hermione seemed content to lie where she was. Severus examined the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the way her body felt warm and vibrant beneath his. She took a sharp intake of breath and he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Are you trying to ravish me?" she asked softly, dare he even say...hopefully?

"That depends on whether or not it would be welcomed," he replied slowly.

Immediately, Hermione's arms were flung around his neck, and before he could even take a breath she was pressing her lips to his. He leaned forward to return her kiss, shifting his weight atop her so that he wouldn't crush her. He didn't want to give her any reason to cease what she was doing. He didn't know how long they remained that way, only that Hermione's lips and hands and tongue were keeping him quite warm despite the snow that still fell all around them.

"What in the name of Godric Gryffindor is going on here?" Minerva McGonagall's startled exclamation broke their concentration. Severus glared up at the Headmistress while Hermione tilted her head backwards to look at her former Head of House.

"We were, um, trying to stay warm in the cold?" Hermione volunteered, giggling like a schoolgirl. Severus smiled wickedly, finally feeling the smallest bit of sympathy for the students he always caught snogging in the corridors.

"Did you need something, Minerva?" he asked, his clipped tone indicating that he'd rather get back to what he'd been doing before he was so rudely interrupted.

Minerva's eyes goggled at them. "I—You—Yes, the whole castle is looking for you two!" she finally choked out.

"Well, now you've found us. Pray scurry back and call off the hounds." Severus turned his face away from Minerva and felt a kick of desire when Hermione smiled encouragingly at him.

"I cannot just _leave _you out here!" the Headmistress insisted. "You may not be chilled now, but night is falling and soon it will be unbearably cold."

"It's alright, Prof—Minerva," Hermione piped up. "Severus is a vampire, didn't you know? He already has ice in his veins."

He leaned down to kiss her again, neither of them overly concerned with the spluttering of their employer as she made her way back to the castle. Eventually, though, they did grow too cold to remain outside, and Severus pulled Hermione up from the ground, wrapping part of his cloak around her as they rushed back towards his quarters.

"Perhaps I ought to catch fire more often," he teased her as they stumbled into his room, ripping at each others' clothes.

"As someone who cares about your welfare, I wouldn't recommend it," Hermione gasped as he tore off her jumper. "You won't need flames to convince me to ravish you, anyway," she added, shoving him backwards onto his bed.

"I'm finding it harder to recall why I loathe Gryffindor bluntness so much," he panted.

"Shut up and kiss me, Severus," were the last words spoken between them for a very long time.

* * *

**A/N: I don't know why, but recently I've been in a very wintry/Christmassy mood! So I wrote you a wintry fic. For 'into the fire', I liked the idea of Severus being so caught up in watching Hermione that he quite literally stepped into a fire. And I always set out to write these short little scenes, but before I know it they're blossoming into thousands of words. Oooops. **

**As ever, I'm not JK Rowling, _obvi_.**


	11. The Case of the Forbidden Desires

**Canon-compliant, set during Trio's 7th year.**

* * *

**The Case of the Forbidden Desires**

_Prompt: sacrilegious_

_Other challenge(s): Maroon 5 - I had "Can't Stop"_

* * *

Hermione raised her hand, eagerly waving it about as Severus continued to lecture. She half-stood from her seat, trying in vain to capture his attention, but still he refused to call on her. She was bloody insufferable, and he did _not _reward blatant showiness in _his _classroom.

Pacing back towards her side of the room, Severus was momentarily caught off-guard when Hermione leaned slightly forward over her table and her school blouse gaped open. Averting his eyes, Severus determined to tell Minerva immediately after class that her students were tampering with their uniforms again.

Then Hermione stood and, calling, "Oh, Severus," held the two sides of her shirt open, inviting him to look. "Won't you call on me now?"

Blinking rapidly, Severus wondered what on earth Hermione Granger was even doing in his classroom. This was second-year Potions with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Hermione wasn't even enrolled at school this year. Shaking his head, the vision cleared, and he was left standing in his classroom, facing a confused bunch of second-years—and no Hermione at all.

* * *

The next day, Severus sat in the Headmaster's chair at the high table in the Great Hall, glaring at the students. Ever since the Carrows had been granted permission to carry out detentions, the Great Hall was nearly silent during meals. At this point, even the Slytherins had taken to eating their meals as quickly as possible and without speaking to one another.

As his gaze passed over the Gryffindor table, Severus froze and had to look again. Hermione, the blasted girl, was sprawled seductively across the scarred wood of the table, crooking a finger at him and smiling. She was naked except for some conveniently-placed fruit and clotted cream. His heart nearly stopped.

Severus stood abruptly, narrowing his eyes at the misbehaving girl. Just as quickly, though, she vanished with a wink, and Severus swallowed thickly before sitting down again. He nodded tersely when Minerva asked stiffly if he was alright. The pressures of running the school while also appearing to work for the Dark Lord were clearly taking their toll on his mind.

* * *

Hermione approached Severus in his office that night, begging him for the chance to increase her NEWT score. _I'll do anything, _the know-it-all proclaimed, her emphasis on "anything" making her meaning quite clear. She sauntered forward with youthful hips, and Severus toppled his chair over in his haste to back away.

She was a _student_, for Merlin's sake, and he absolutely could not entertain lustful thoughts about students. Even when said students dropped their skirts and climbed gracefully up onto his desk, beckoning him closer. Severus licked his lips as Hermione asked what she might _possibly _do for him to change his mind.

He involuntarily took one step forward before slamming his eyes shut and pressing himself against the far wall. When he had control of his desire once more, he opened his eyes—and of course she was gone. Well, that wasn't quite true—she had never _really _been there in the first place. Regardless, it was sacrilege, the turn his thoughts had taken when she'd spread herself so willingly in front of him.

* * *

She found him even in sleep. Her wispy, dream-like form twirled and contorted in ways that he doubted were physically possible, but oh so erotic. _Oh, Professor, you're so scintillating_, she whispered as she circled him, undressing him with her eyes. _Ravish me! _she begged as she bent herself over his desk, wiggling her behind enticingly.

Even in sleep, though, he still knew it was wrong. So wrong, on so many levels. And yet he couldn't seem to help himself—thoughts of her continued to torment him, continued to ensnare his senses until _she _was all he thought about, all the time. She appeared at the most inopportune moments, forcing him to stop lecturing and disappear into his office until his baser instincts were quieted.

Eventually it reached the point where his arousal _couldn't _be quieted, and he took to relieving himself at every opportunity. It—she—was driving him mad, and he hated her for it. What sorcery was this, anyway? He vowed that when he next met her, he would punish her severely.

* * *

"Why isn't it working?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should try something else."

Ginny and Neville conferred quietly in a corner of the common room which had come to be known as the War Zone. Whenever there was DA business afoot, it started in this corner.

"Let's read Fred and George's instructions again, maybe we're not using it right."

Two heads bent over the parchment, two sets of lips mouthed the directions to a dangerous potion. It had been Ginny's idea—blind Snape with lust so badly that he couldn't do his job properly. Thus far, however, Snape seemed to be immune to the effects of the Lustful Lozenges that they'd liquefied and slipped into his drinks.

"Well, I say we up his dosage. Let's just use the rest."

"No! It might kill him, and then people would be suspicious."

"I still don't understand what's wrong. I thought you said you saw him with Pince?"

"I did! The Lozenges are supposed to increase your arousal for the object of your desire until you can't help but make a move. But he hasn't done a thing as far as I can tell..."

The commanders of the DA bent their heads and went back to their drawing board.

Meanwhile, Hermione taunted Severus with her ripe lips and words of promise.

* * *

**A/N: This is a little darker than I usually write, but I enjoyed it! Of course, Hermione would never actually be so bold, I'm sure. I took some liberties, such as Snape still teaching the occasional class during his stint as Headmaster. Also, I have no idea what clotted cream is, or if it's even something that you'd want to eat off of someone, so I apologize if that didn't come off as sexy as I imagined. I also used a very, very loose interpretation of the meaning of 'sacrilege', but I reasoned that for an educator or someone in Severus' position, fantasizing about students might as well be sacrilegious. **

**I had this idea that Ginny would have gotten all kinds of goodies from the twins as they fought against Snape and the Carrows (somewhat borrowed from thanfiction's DAYD) and I thought it would be interesting if they assumed Snape would lust after someone in the school—poor things, they don't realize that Severus and Hermione are perfect for each other. :)**

**Also, for your reading enjoyment, I reverted back to more of a mystery, AND kept my word count manageable! I did 4 drabbles of 175 words apiece, and the last one is a little longer, something like 210. This was also written for the "Maroon 5" competition on HPFC, wherein I had the song "Can't Stop." I recommend you look up the lyrics and view the story in light of those.**

**I hope you enjoyed it! As always, I am not JK Rowling, but I am slightly comforted by the fact that she can't lawfully claim to be ME, either.**


	12. The Case of the Dungeon Bat

**Canon-compliant I suppose; set during Trio's 6th year.**

* * *

**The Case of the Dungeon Bat**

_Prompt: practical_

_Other challenge(s): Halloween Drabble_

* * *

"Don't be childish," Hermione admonished the group of sixth-year Gryffindors gathered around the punch bowl. "I'm sure Professor Snape has better things to do than come up with a Halloween costume."

"But _everyone _is in costume! Look, even McGonagall's got cat ears on."

Hermione shook her head exasperatedly. It was no use arguing with her classmates—they'd think what they wanted to think no matter how much she reasoned with them. Besides, if Professor Snape didn't want to chaperone their Halloween party in costume, then it was none of their business.

"—dare you, Hermione!"

"What?" She turned away from her contemplation of the lone figure standing rigidly by the doors.

"Lavender just dared you to ask him why he's dressed like a vampire," Seamus laughed. Hermione stiffened. Normally she abstained from such ridiculousness, but her pride refused to let her stand down from this particular challenge. She'd show Lavender!

"Alright then. See you in a bit." Hermione strode off in the direction of Professor Snape, allowing herself one backwards glance to see their jaws all hanging open. Even Harry looked shocked. Hermione smiled, feeling quite pleased with herself.

Her smile faded, however, as she approached Professor Snape. His scowl seemed to be deepening with every step she took. She supposed all she had to do was chat with him for a few minutes before returning to her friends—they'd never know if she'd actually asked him or not.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Hermione bubbled. When he only glared at her in response, she went on, "Lovely evening, isn't it? Of course, I'd rather learn more about the religious and cultural histories of the holiday than stand about in a silly outfit, but I suspect I'm in the minority."

Still, he did not say anything, but the fact that he hadn't as of yet removed any house points was encouraging, so she continued. "We never celebrated Halloween when I was growing up, you know. My parents are both dentists so they abhor the holiday. But once, when I was eight, I spent the night at a friend's house and we absolutely gorged ourselves on candy. It was the first time I'd been allowed to eat as much as I wanted. I was quite sick the next day."

She smiled conspiratorially at Professor Snape, who took one step away from her in response. Frowning, Hermione decided to plunge ahead. "Actually, I came over here because, er, you see, some of the others were wondering—why aren't you in costume?"

Professor Snape turned his head ever so slowly in her direction. Then, without a word, he lifted his arms straight out from his sides. Hermione was momentarily confused until she caught sight of the sheer, webbed fabric that had been sewn onto his robes.

"You're dressed as a bat!" Hermione laughed; she couldn't help it. It was so clever of him. She couldn't seem to stop laughing the more she looked at him, but then she realized he might take her amusement the wrong way, so she quickly composed herself. "Thank you for sharing that with me," she said sincerely, wiping her eyes. "I think it's brilliant."

"It is practical," was his quiet retort before he strode away. Hermione couldn't be sure, but she thought she'd seen one corner of his mouth tipped in a smile as he turned away.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, I love Halloween! I couldn't resist the Halloween Drabble challenge, although I did go about 100 words over the limit. Oops. Anyway, it's fun to imagine Snape having a bit of a sense of humor now and then, even if we never saw evidence of that in canon. **

**As ever, I'm not JK Rowling, even though I dress up like her for Halloween every year and try to access her vault at Gringotts. ...Kidding.  
**


	13. The Case of the Unlikely Showdown

**EWE, Snape lives.**

* * *

**The Case of the Unlikely Showdown**

_Prompt: playful_

_Other challenge(s): Never Too Old for Playground Games_

* * *

Rummaging through the mark-down bins at the back of The Stewed Belladonna, Hermione's favorite eclectic apothecary, she let out a small _whoop _of success when her fingers landed on a strip of bicorn hide. The hides were rare, but not an ingredient that was typically very highly sought by potioneers. Still, it was unusual to find one in such good condition and at such a low price.

Steadying herself with one hand on the edge of the bin, Hermione leaned down to dig the hide out of the miasma of other discarded merchandise. Her fingers had just wrapped around the strip of hide when another hand—a familiar hand—reached in and firmly gripped the other end.

"Excuse me, that's mine," Hermione said politely as she straightened. The other person did not relinquish the hide, however.

"I do not see your name on it, Miss Granger," Severus Snape drawled.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione gave the bicorn hide a small tug. "Nevertheless, I had it first," she answered, less politely this time.

Severus' eyes bored into hers, and the infuriating man tugged back with enough force to cause Hermione to stumble forward a step. "It only matters who has it _last_," he growled.

"Oh!" Indignant, Hermione braced her feet and pulled on the hide with all her strength. "Give! It! Back!" she shouted.

"No." He managed to add about eleven syllables to the simple word, and Hermione geared herself for a fight. She wanted this ingredient, she had _found _it before him, and she would be damned if she lost to him now.

Severus wrapped his other hand around the hide and yanked, twisting her prized discovery in an attempt to loosen her grip. Hermione debated grabbing for her wand to hex him, but she needed both her hands on the hide to prevent him from taking advantage. He seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because he hadn't hexed her yet, either.

Luckily, the bicorn hide was extremely tough.

* * *

From the front page of The Daily Prophet:

**_War Heroine Hermione Granger and infamous Headmaster and Death Eater Severus Snape locked in battle at local Apothecary!_**

_By Rita Skeeter, Senior Correspondent_

Yesterday at approximately four o'clock in the afternoon, a disturbance was reported in a small shop at the edge of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. This shop, _allegedly _specializing in unusual potion ingredients, is rumored to be the business of disgraced Cannons Keeper, Chillworth Heatsbury. Loyal readers will remember when _this _journalist broke the story of Chillworth's _illegal_ use of the Felix Felicis potion during Quidditch matches.

The proprietor, a heavy man with a _striking _resemblance to dear Chillworth, was all in a dither when the _Prophet _arrived on the scene last evening.

"It's madness!" he cried, directing us to the back of the store. "Someone's got to stop them! Who's going to pay for all this damage?"

He was referring, of course, to the number of broken bottles and crushed _somethings _littering the floor in the back of the shop. Amidst the carnage, who should be present but the _legendary _Hermione Granger (readers will remember her as the trollop who dated _all_ of the Tri-Wizard champions several years ago) and the _ever_-imposing Severus Snape?

In all my years at the _forefront_ of accurate and informative journalism, never has this reporter witnessed something so absurd! There are hardly words to describe the scene at the store, but for you, dear readers, I will try.

It appears that Miss Granger and Professor Snape are engaged in a highly-unusual game of tug-of-war! Granger, the swot, explained to me—in a very rude manner, might I add—that _she _had found this particularly special piece of rubber, but that Snape had come along and was trying to _steal _it. Snape, of course, retorted that it was impossible to steal something that no one else _owned_, which was when things became really heated.

Both parties were red-faced and sweating by this point, and the _Prophet _is not at liberty to reprint some of the _creative _names being bandied about by the two nemeses. At press time, neither party was willing to release the bit of rubber. Stay tuned for more on this _bizarre _occurrence as it develops! Signing off from the frontlines, your most trusted news source, Rita Skeeter.

* * *

"You will not be able to maintain your grasp forever, Granger," Severus pointed out.

"I daresay I'll be able to hold out longer than you," Hermione retorted, "seeing as I'm at least twenty years younger!"

Severus' eyes narrowed but he did not respond. It was approaching a full twenty-four hours since they'd squared off over the bit of bicorn. Truthfully, Hermione didn't even want it that badly anymore, but she refused to back down now—she couldn't let Severus win. Her pride would not allow it. And when had she started referring to him as Severus, anyway? Thinking back, Hermione retraced the timeline of the past day.

Approximately two hours into their altercation, they'd shifted so that they could each rest against a piece of furniture or a bookshelf. There wasn't much _tugging_ anymore, precisely, but neither one would allow any slack in their grip lest their opponent rip the treasured prize away. At four hours into the stand-off, a crowd had gathered and someone had kindly fed and watered both Hermione and Severus. After five hours, the name-calling had really escalated, and Hermione had effectively destroyed her "sweet" and "innocent" reputation. Granted, the same reputation had taken quite a beating during the last year of the war, but any shred of decency was gone now after the things she'd yelled at Severus. Oh, yes, _that_ was when it had happened—somewhere between hours six and eight she'd tired of saying "Professor Snape" and had fallen back on "Snivellus," which she'd of course learned from Sirius. It was admittedly not her proudest moment. Afterwards she'd settled on "Severus."

Then, they'd been too alert to sleep, so they'd passed the night in oddly companionable silence. The lingering crowd had dispersed and the owner of the shop had fretfully asked them not to destroy anything while they were there, and then he'd locked them in for the night. As the bolt clicked on the door, Hermione had realized that she was now definitely in this for the long haul. She would stand here, holding her end of the bicorn hide, until she or Severus passed out.

As dawn broke, both were still standing, and Hermione turned gritty eyes to the shopfront when the owner entered. He seemed startled to find them there still, but then Rita and some others had pushed their way in and the pressure was back on. The day had been miserably long, but someone always seemed to provide food and water, and there had even been a few lovely wizards who had stepped in for Hermione so that she could use the loo. Interestingly, Severus hadn't taken advantage of these moments, for when she returned she always found him still holding his end of the hide, her temporary replacement struggling to wrest it from him and win it for her. Eventually, around tea time, someone had finally stepped in for Severus, and she found that she wasn't quite ruthless enough to take advantage of the situation, either.

She wanted to beat _him_, damn it, and she wanted to do it legitimately. With witnesses.

* * *

_**Granger-Snape Stand-Off Reaching Day Two! Details inside!** _

Well, readers, in the most improbable of circumstances, it appears that both Hermione Granger (see inset) and Severus Snape (pg. 4) have dug in their heels and _refused _to relinquish the silly piece of what-have-you that they both _claim_ to have picked up first.

Ever your devoted servant, I, Rita Skeeter, was on the scene _promptly_ at dawn this morning to see the _legendary _face-off for myself. Since this is a _family _publication, I will of course refrain from pondering what _exactly _went on during the night, but suffice it to say that both parties seem suspiciously civil today. There hasn't been _one _instance of name-calling in the seven (yes, dear readers, seven!) hours that myself and a growing number of onlookers have been present.

This is shaping up to be the "duel" of the century, second only to Harry Potter's _questionable_ defeat of Voldemort several years ago. Interestingly, neither party appears to have used any magic—_could this mean _Granger and Snape have somehow lost their powers? A bit of research revealed, dear readers, that the flappy piece of rubbish in question is used in regenerative potions. We shall have to wait and see how this _crazy _game of tug-of-war plays out!

DISCLAIMER: The owner of the apothecary, who we _all _know is Chillworth even if he won't admit it, has requested that onlookers refrain from bringing their own food and drink into his shop. Apparently there have been some nasty spills.

* * *

"Aren't you tired?" Hermione asked Severus as soon as the proprietor shooed everyone away for the night and locked them in again.

"No," Severus bit off, but Hermione rather thought he said it with less than his usual spirit.

"Want to call a truce so we can get some sleep?" she tried.

"Ready to throw in the towel, then, Granger?" he asked, perking up a bit. "I knew you would never last—"

"_I'm _not ready," Hermione snapped. "But I thought _you _looked a bit peaky, so I was just trying to be nice."

"Why won't you be a good girl, then, and just admit that this piece of—what is this again?" Severus frowned down at the dark leather in his hand.

A short bark of laughter escaped Hermione's mouth. "You don't even remember what we're fighting over?" she asked incredulously.

For a moment, Severus' face did not change; then, like the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy day, a small smile crept onto his lips. "Ah, no," he admitted.

Hermione stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. Soon, Severus had joined her, and she had to wipe the tears off her cheeks as the hysterical laughter went on and on. Eventually they calmed themselves, although Hermione made the mistake of making eye contact and suffered the giggles again.

"I can't believe—oh, honestly, this is just foolish," she said. She fully intended to release the bicorn hide, but it was as though her hand was no longer in direct communication with her brain. Severus also seemed reluctant to release it, and Hermione wondered if they had both gone round the bend. "It's bicorn hide," she offered.

"Yes, of course, how could I have forgotten? I have been searching for bicorn hide for...many...oh, blast it all. I hardly care about the hide, but I refuse to be the one to give in. This has gained us an unprecedented amount of notoriety, you realize," he said, sounding stern. Hermione giggled again.

"Quite a feat, really, don't you think? I rather thought I couldn't possibly _be _any more famous, and you, well, you're—" Both his eyebrows had risen, and he was clearly waiting for her to put her foot in her mouth. She quickly changed course. "That is, we both already had a certain level of notoriety prior to _this_," she gestured between them, "and it's hard to imagine that a silly little misunderstanding has caught everyone's attention."

"I suppose you think I should simply act the gentleman and allow you your prize," he drawled. Hermione shrugged and nodded, deciding that she might as well be honest. Severus' lips twitched again but he said, "You are aware, of course, that I am no gentleman; and you, Miss Granger, would do well to actually lose at something for once in your privileged life."

His speech should have made her angry, but instead Hermione found that she was merely amused. Now that he was not her terrifying professor, she found that his barbs didn't sting nearly as much. "Oh, is that supposed to scare me?" she taunted him, gratified when his eyes narrowed. "This is _my _hide and I will _not _simply give it to you because you think that you're more stubborn! I have news for you, Severus Snape: I will not stand down and you can't make me!"

It was perhaps a bit childish, Hermione realized, but she decided to go whole-hog and added, "And my name is Hermione, not Miss Granger!"

They glared at each other for an interminable amount of time and then, to her surprise, Severus said, "Shall we at least sit and wait out the night, then?"

She wasn't sure how it happened, but she managed to fall asleep. When she woke the next morning, it was to discover that they both still held fast to their ends of the hide—but that they had slumbered quite peacefully side-by-side, her head on his shoulder and his leg resting against hers.

* * *

**_Wizarding Community Abuzz: Is There More to the Granger-Snape Impasse than Meets the Eye?_**

As part of the _Prophet's _ongoing coverage of the "Battle of the Brains" as it has come to be called, your ever-diligent reporter spent the night camped outside of The Stewed Belladonna and witnessed some _very _interesting events.

_Yes_, that's right, you heard it here first—world-renowned _grouch_ and general naysayer Severus Snape was seen _tenderly_ brushing a lock of hair back from _equally _world-renowned busybody and general _plain-Jane_ Hermione Granger's face while she slept!

Check your owls for a special mid-day edition of the _Prophet _as more information is forthcoming in this _explosive _new development!

* * *

"How long have we been here?" Hermione mumbled, her voice still groggy with sleep.

"I believe today marks day five," Severus replied, not even bothering to shift away from her. The first morning when they'd woken next to each other, they'd quickly scrambled to their feet and hastily strengthened their holds on the bicorn hide. The next morning, Severus had discreetly scooted his leg away from hers while she patted her hair back into place. Today, Hermione didn't have the energy to move, much less care whether _he_ was still touching _her_.

Honestly, it felt rather nice. She only wished she could have discovered this under different circumstances.

"Ready to give up, then?" she asked him hopefully. His chuckle reverberated through his chest and into her ear in a most pleasant way. Hermione caught herself wishing she could make him laugh more often and abruptly sat up, blushing. Severus glanced at her but thankfully refused to comment.

* * *

**_Have We Been Duped? And The Chosen One Breaks His Silence!_**

Those of you following the fiasco at the apothecary over the last week have no doubt been asking yourselves—what is so important about one measly potion ingredient? We here at the _Prophet _asked ourselves the same question, and came to a startling answer: _nothing! _Further contemplation led many to conclude that the stand-off between Granger and Snape is related _not _to the fabric in question, but _in fact _to a different, longer-standing feud between the two.

While journalistic integrity demands that I not simply publish _any_ old rumor, my sources have _nevertheless_ confirmed that there is some truth to the circulating whispers that the two were _involved _during Miss Granger's school years. This, of course, carries serious implications not only for the two involved, but _also_ for Hogwarts at large. Rest assured, faithful readers, that the _Prophet _is launching a full-scale investigation into these _nasty _accusations.

I wanted to know more, just like you, so I went to the most logical source—Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived Again. Mr. Potter has been _notoriously _unhelpful (and rude!) on past _Prophet _interviews, but never let it be said that Rita Skeeter is not persistent—I mean, persuasive!

I met Harry for a dish of ice cream—and _dirt_. This is what he had to say: "Leave it alone, Skeeter." When pressed, however, he added, "Look, there's no one more determined than Hermione, and if she says she grabbed the whatever-it-is first, then I believe her. She'll hold onto that thing until she dies rather than admit defeat."

So there you have it, straight from the Hippogriff's mouth! Could this be a case of a _scorned _lover? Or a jealous _admirer? _Mark my words, there is more to this than meets the eye! Miss Granger is out for blood and _this _reporter will be there every step of the way, bringing you, my treasured readers, the latest events _as they happen! _

* * *

Day twelve was the day that no one save Rita Skeeter came to gawk at them in the apothecary, and _she _only stayed long enough to note that they were still at opposite ends of the bicorn hide before Disapparating with a bored expression.

"Our devoted fans have abandoned us," Severus remarked drily.

Hermione laughed. "You know what that means—no witnesses! You can let go, now, if you want."

One of Severus' eyebrows quirked in the way she had come to realize meant he was amused. "Why would I give in now? I've made it this far. I'm not leaving without my bicorn hide." He crossed his arms as best he could while still holding onto his end, and the movement tugged her forward a step.

Feeling like she had had _quite _enough of standing around this ridiculous shop, Hermione tensed her muscles and pulled hard on the hide. She'd managed to surprise Severus because he stumbled forward. "As I've told you again and again, it is _my _hide and I _will _be purchasing it!"

"Is. That. So?" He managed to make each word its own sentence. He pulled on his end and suddenly they were both tugging and twisting, engaged in a full-fledged battle for the hide. Hermione hadn't felt so alive in years as she aimed a kick at Severus' shin and dodged as he sent a Stunning Spell at her.

"No magic!" she cried, somewhat foolishly, but he obeyed. Later she would recognize the significance of that, but for now she was wholly focused on trying to pry his fingers off the dried-up piece of leather. Vaguely she noted that it wasn't even useful anymore—it had never been properly stored over the past two weeks, so it was shriveled and brittle. Still, she fought like a banshee to wrest the thing from his grasp, and Severus was fighting just as hard.

She pressed against him, hoping to pin him against the bookshelf, and twisted herself so that she had his hands in front of her while she used her back to shield her actions from his gaze. She was busily attempting to slide the hide from his fingers when he stilled, and it took her a moment to register that she was _quite _intruding on his personal space. Hermione's fingers stopped their efforts as she pondered how best to extricate herself without seeming obvious.

Then, amazingly, Severus' hands fell away. Hermione seized the ruined hide and spun to face him, waving it in the air and shouting, "I WON! IT'S MINE!"

Severus merely growled, grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him, murmuring, "I'm never going to live this down," before pressing his lips to hers. She wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline and the thrill of victory or the odd camaraderie they'd developed over the past two weeks that had her kissing him back, but kissing him back she was, and she found that she rather liked it.

A lot.

Bicorn hide forgotten, Hermione surged upward and wrapped her hands in Severus' hair, pressing herself as fully against him as she could. His hands slipped down to cup her bum and she was fairly certain they both moaned. The sound of shattering glass didn't even register as Hermione continued to snog Severus, and she didn't bother detaching her lips when he Disapparated them to his home.

* * *

**_Shocking Conclusion to Epic Granger-Snape Tug-of-War Battle!_**

The _intense_ stand-off between dowdy Hermione Granger and dour Severus Snape ended in a most _shocking_ manner this Tuesday at approximately nine o'clock in the morning. Your devoted news hound, Rita Skeeter, was on the scene _bright and early_ to check in on these ill-fated rivals as they continued to argue the _rightful _possession of their bit of squid tentacle. What I saw shocked me to my core, but you may trust that I speak nothing but the _truth _when I tell you that these two were _not _engaged in a stand-off, but a most _intimate _encounter!

Yes, beloved readers, SEVERUS SNAPE and HERMIONE GRANGER were caught _in flagrante delicto _by no less than four eye witnesses!

Believe me, I was startled as well. My morning pumpkin juice went _tumbling_ to the floor unheeded as I hurried to jot down my observations. Perhaps even more shocking than the scene itself was the fact that both parties seemed _quite _oblivious to their surroundings...one can _only _wonder whether the evil Potions Master managed to slip something into innocent Miss Granger's tea the night before. Sinister, indeed!

Stay tuned for further coverage of this perplexing turn of events from your most _trusted _news source...

* * *

**A/N: Oh, that was fun! I just love writing Rita Skeeter, she's so ridiculous. My thoughts were that after the war, a lot of things would have changed in the Wizarding world - but some things _wouldn't_. Like Rita's continued presence at the Daily Prophet. As we know, she's prone to exaggeration, gossip, and outright lies in order to sell papers, so I took some liberties with the things she wrote. And yes - she is known to get her facts wrong, which is why she can never remember what it actually is they're fighting over (rubber, fabric, squid...) I also imagined she's the type of journalist to _randomly _emphasize a _number _of things in _every _piece she writes, hence the liberal use of italics. :) **

**Anyway, this was also written for the "Never Too Old For Playground Games" competition on HPFC, and I had **tug-of-war**.** **I'm not JK Rowling and to be honest I haven't engaged in a good ol' fashioned game of tug-of-war myself in many, many years! Too bad I don't have a dark, brooding partner to play it with, haha.**


	14. The Case of the Midnight Conversation

**Canon-compliant, set at the end of the trio's 5th year.**

* * *

**The Case of the Midnight Conversation**

_Prompt: nightmare_

Hermione used her wand to cast a fiery X on the door they'd just come through, then she followed Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville, and Ginny into the weird room with the floating brains. The eerie light cast by the undulating organs reminded her bizarrely of a Muggle nightclub she'd passed once while on holiday with her parents. She'd barely taken a step when a masked Death Eater appeared out of nothingness in front of her, and she yelled for the others as she began to fire off hex after hex. Suddenly realizing that no one was coming to her assistance, Hermione looked around—and saw that her friends were standing beside the robed figure, their wands out and pointed at _her_. Six arcs of purple light came towards her, and she screamed.

~o~

Hermione was still screaming when she woke, and she vaguely registered that her vocal chords felt like they'd been screamed raw. It took a moment for her surroundings to resolve themselves into anything recognizable: the Hospital Wing.

Gingerly sitting up, Hermione scrubbed a hand across her face and looked around for a glass of water. She nearly fell out of her bed when her eyes landed on the black-clad figure sitting next to her in the candle-lit darkness.

"Prof—Professor Snape?" she croaked.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" came the unconcerned response.

"I—" Hermione didn't even know how to answer him. Surely it was not outside the realm of reason that he explain why he was keeping vigil at her bedside without her having to ask? She shook her head, too groggy and terrified and hurting to bother coming up with a reply. "Can I have some water, please?"

A dramatic sigh met her ears, and she watched as he marked his place in his book before standing and striding over to a washstand on the other side of the room. When he returned, he handed her a small glass of water and resumed his seat. "I am not your nursemaid," he said tersely.

"Oh, well, excuse me," Hermione bit out, angry with him now. "Next time I'll just _Accio _it, shall I? Where's my wand?" Looking at the bedside table, she didn't see anything except a small vase of flowers.

"It is being held for investigation at the Ministry," he replied matter-of-factly.

"What?" Hermione's attention was now fully focused on her professor. "They can't take my wand! I didn't do anything wrong!"

Professor Snape tsked, rather gleefully in Hermione's opinion. "One, you left school grounds without permission. Two, you unlawfully entered the Ministry of Magic and its most closely-guarded department. Three, you cast a number of spells, which is illegal for a person under the age of seventeen. And four, you seriously injured several adults, not to mention that you destroyed an entire roomful of prophecies which did not belong to you. No, Miss Granger; you did nothing wrong." He drew a long breath in through his nose. "Of course they're holding your wand for examining, you foolish girl! What were you thinking, racing off to London on your own? The lot of you are lucky to be alive!"

Hermione was stunned. Never had she heard Professor Snape admonish her with such righteous anger. He was genuinely upset with her on a personal level, something which should have seemed normal but which she knew was actually a first. In the past when he had insulted or humiliated her, she'd always rather suspected that he didn't really _mean _it in a personal way. This, however—this felt different.

She cleared her throat, deeming it wise not to argue about her wand. That still left a rather large question unanswered, though.

"Why are you here?" she asked hesitantly. It was a bit forward of her, but somehow, she felt more at ease with him here in the near-dark than she ever did in their normal setting. "If you're not my nursemaid, I mean."

He was silent for so long that she began to wonder if she was actually having a hallucination, and there was no one _actually _there. Finally, he spoke, his words measured carefully.

"You were hit with a curse of unknown origins. I was not exaggerating when I said that you are lucky to be alive. Your treatment—and therefore recovery—has fallen to me, as I am the resident expert in Dark curses." He held up the book he'd been reading when she awoke. "I was reviewing your progress over the past several days in this journal. I am uncertain whether the nightmares are a product of the curse or of your experience in the Department of Mysteries."

"Oh," was all Hermione could manage. It seemed so foreign, the idea of Professor Snape healing anyone, but Hermione supposed it made sense. She suddenly felt very, very tired, and she gently slid down under her covers again. She wasn't sure whether she should say _thank you _or _goodnight _or _please stop staring at me while I sleep _but in the end she settled for silence. Smiling grimly to herself, she suspected that Professor Snape would be most appreciative of the silence, anyway.

As she drifted off to sleep again, she decided that she would ask double the questions tomorrow night to make up for it.

* * *

**A/N: I wanted to get away from the "EWE, Snape is alive!" situations I've been writing a lot of lately, and I've always enjoyed writing about what happened after their foray into the Ministry during their 5th year.** **So you get this nice little canon-compliant piece, and I get a grin thinking about Professor Snape being assigned to watch over the little know-it-all. As ever, I'm not JK Rowling.**


	15. The Case of Prior Incantato

**A different, dark take on the final scene in the Shrieking Shack during DH. Warning: implied murder. Or is it? **

* * *

**The Case of Prior Incantato**

_Prompt: killing_

"Look at me." The gurgled words reverberated around the dismal Shrieking Shack, and Hermione inched closer to Ron while they watched the two men on the floor.

"Do you think Snape's trying to Legilimise him?" Ron whispered to her.

Hermione frowned as she looked from Snape to Harry, where he knelt amidst the ever-widening pool of blood. "I'm not sure, but I don't think so," she whispered back. "Look—he doesn't even have his wand."

It was true: Snape's wand lay, discarded, where it had been flung when Nagini attacked. There was no way he was capable of performing _any _magic, much less powerful magic like Legilimency. Still, it was better to be sure. Hermione strode across the room and picked up Snape's wand, examining it closely as she moved back to her spot next to Ron. Her focus shifted when they heard the last tortured, rattling breaths from Snape.

Looking up at them briefly, Harry seemed lost. "What should we do?" he asked.

"Get the bloody hell out of here, that's for sure," Ron said loudly. All eyes were fixed on the black-robed figure sprawled on the floor. "I don't want to stick around in case he wakes up."

"I don't think he's going to wake up," Harry said uneasily, standing and moving away slowly. "Come on—let's go back to the castle. I've got to find Voldemort."

Ron and Harry began to climb down into the passageway beneath the Shack, but Hermione hesitated. "I'll catch you up," she said firmly when Harry gave her a questioning look. She didn't offer any other explanation, though, so he shrugged and she waited as his messy black hair disappeared below the floor.

Then she turned and looked at Professor Snape, fingering his wand thoughtfully.

~o~

It wasn't ten minutes later when Hermione caught up to the boys in the passageway back to the castle.

"Going to tell us what that was about?" Ron asked from up ahead, his voice muffled in the darkness.

"He's dead," Hermione said tonelessly. "I just wanted to be sure."

Harry stopped suddenly and Hermione slammed into his back. "Hermione—what did you _do_?" he asked, true fear in his voice.

"Nothing! It's like I said. I just wanted to make sure. We wouldn't want him running off to Voldemort, would we? He's a formidable opponent, even wounded." Hermione shoved at Harry's back to get him moving again, but he remained where he was.

"Hermione..." he began, his suspicion evident. There was silence in the tunnel for a moment and then, quietly, perhaps so only she could hear, he asked, "What would I see if I did_ Prior Incantato_ on your wand right now? Don't lie!"

Hermione sniffed. "On _my_ wand? Just a ridiculous number of _Stupefies _and _Petrificus Totaluses _and maybe an _Impedimenta _or _Expelliarmus _or two! Honestly! We have more important things to do now!"

Harry was still for another few heartbeats and then he began crawling forward again. Relieved, Hermione followed behind him, her mind still on the ebony wand now resting against its master's corpse.

She'd only done what she had to do. They couldn't afford to face such a skilled wizard in battle.

And who would ever perform _Prior Incantato_ on a dead man's wand?

* * *

**A/N: I really felt the need to write a dark, dark, _dark_ little bit about my two favorite characters! I'm not sure if this really qualifies for an "OTP" one-shot because I don't think one's OTPs usually kill each other, but oh well. My idea was that Nagini had _as good as _killed Snape, but Hermione just finished him off to make sure. At this point in DH, they don't have any idea what's in Snape's memories, so for all intents and purposes he's still their enemy. Ah, the darkness of my mind. **

**Also, note that Prior Incantato is different than Priori Incantatem - the latter is what happened to Harry's and Voldemort's wands in the graveyard the night Lord V came back. Prior Incantato is just the everyday spell that wizards can use to see what spells another's wand has last performed. Mr. Diggory used it on Winky at the Quidditch World Cup.**


	16. The Case of the Frilly Nothings

**Canon-compliant, set during the trio's 6th year.**

* * *

**The Case of the Frilly Nothings**

_Prompt: ridiculous_

Saturday morning was off to a bad start.

Typically, Severus enjoyed the solitude that came with rising at dawn on a weekend morning. No students dared open their sleepy eyes for another few hours, and there was a gentle stillness to the castle that was refreshingly soothing. He used the time for mundane activities, like laundry and reading the _Prophet _and enjoying a cup of coffee on the parapet of the Astronomy Tower. It was possibly his favorite spot in the entire castle, and he welcomed each opportunity to stand at the rail and watch the sun rise or set.

Unfortunately, _this _Saturday, things had all gone awry. He'd discovered a pair of slumbering Slytherins up on the Tower and he'd been forced to remove house points due to their obvious inebriation—and lack of clothing. It had quite ruined his mood.

Then, he'd spilled his coffee on his robes, forcing him to re-start his laundry and putting him all off-schedule. He was quite grumpy by the time he headed down to move his clothing from the magical washer to the enchanted dryer. He could only hope that he stumbled across a rule-breaking Gryffindor on his way.

As if to spite him, no Gryffindors appeared to be out of bed yet. Severus contented himself with slamming open the door to the school laundry room and then slamming it closed again. The customary steaminess of the room enveloped him, and he took a deep breath of the detergent-scented air. He approached the washer where he'd placed his clothes earlier and retrieved the damp bundle. Stepping over to the dryer, he paused.

It was full, blast it. With someone else's clothing.

Severus growled and dumped his armful on the nearest table. No doubt the clothes sitting in the dryer belonged to some hapless student who had come down to do their wash the previous night and who was too lazy to return and pick it up. Didn't people _know _it was common courtesy to remove your things from the washroom promptly upon completion of their laundering?

Scowling, he wrenched open the door of the dryer and began to pull the clothing from within. He quickly realized his mistake, however, once he looked at the items in his hands.

They were skimpy, frilly, and in a dizzying array of colors.

_Knickers._

And not just any knickers, no—these were high quality, _scintillating _knickers. Severus was too shocked to do anything other than stare down at the pairs in his hands: red, purple, blue, black, yellow. A glance into the dryer revealed even more colors: green, pink, tan, gray, even—he gasped—leopard print.

Swallowing thickly, he wondered what to do. His original intention had been to remove the clothing and leave it heaped on the table for the unknown student to collect later while he used the dryer for his own clothing. It hardly seemed appropriate, however, to leave a student's underthings sitting out where anyone might see them. At the same time, though, he _really _wanted to complete his laundry and attempt to get his Saturday back on track. Besides, he reasoned, if said student truly cared about their laundry, they would have come to collect it promptly.

His course of action decided, he piled the knickers in his hands on the nearby table and reached into the dryer for the rest. He had just straightened when a loud gasp reached his ears, and he spun to face the unexpected witness.

"Professor—what are you doing with my knickers?" Hermione Granger stood in the doorway, wide-eyed. Severus' stomach sank. Of all the students for these to belong to—this was just humiliating.

"The better question is what your knickers are doing loitering in the dryer," he responded, pleased with himself when his voice sounded steady. "This is a shared facility, and it is inconsiderate to simply leave one's clothing—"

"I didn't _leave _my clothing," Hermione retorted, stepping further into the room and letting the door swing shut behind her. "My timer just went off a few minutes ago—I came down right away."

"An obvious lie," he drawled, attempting to regain the high ground in this exchange.

Her eyes narrowed. "It's not a lie!" she exclaimed. "Since you're holding them, feel for yourself—they're still warm from the dryer, aren't they?"

Severus was certain he hadn't blushed in well over three decades, but he knew his cheeks were red now. The blasted bits of silk and lace _were _still warm, damn it. He would simply have to find another reason to be rightfully angry with her.

"That is irrelevant. What is a sixth-year student doing wearing such—_inappropriate _undergarments? These are fit for a brothel!" He held up a transparent lilac pair between two fingers, and both their eyes flitted to the knickers in question before skittering away again.

Hermione cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. She cleared her throat again, and again until she seemed to have found her voice. "I like to match," she whispered.

"You. Like. To. Match," he repeated slowly. Hermione closed her eyes and her cheeks flamed a brilliant Gryffindor red. Then her meaning dawned on him. "Am I to understand that you are the owner of a ridiculous number of brightly-colored brassieres, as well?"

Her eyes snapped open. "That's none of your—I hardly see how—I mean, yes, but—I demand that you return my laundry at once!" she finally managed.

"Gladly," he intoned, handing over the knickers still clutched in his hands. She hurriedly scooped them into a purple wicker basket along with the pairs on the table, then slammed the lid on top. They stood in silence, he looking at her, and her looking anywhere but at him. Finally, he settled upon an appropriate reprimand. "Let this be a lesson to you about abandoning your laundry when it contains sensitive garments."

Hermione practically growled. "That is unfair," she pointed out. "I always do my laundry on Saturday mornings, and I've never had any problems before! Maybe _you _should learn not to meddle with other people's belongings." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him in a manner that reminded him most firmly of Minerva.

When he did not respond, she grabbed up her basket and stomped towards the door. Feeling invigorated, he tossed out, "Oh, and did you know, the school laundry is done by the Hogwarts house elves?"

Her only answer was a rude hand gesture, and Severus laughed.

Perhaps today wasn't going to be so bad after all.

* * *

**A/N: Molly Weasley is often seen doing laundry or carrying laundry, so it stands to reason that it is an actual chore and that clothes can't be continually Tergeo'ed or just cleaned with a spell. Plus I have fond memories of early mornings in my college laundry room - there's a certain quiet and warmth there that I always loved!** **And Hermione's obsessive need to match her undergarments is a real thing - my, er, friend does it. Yeah. Friend. **

**Ah, if only Snape would twirl my knickers around, the world would be a happy, happy place! ****As ever, I'm not JK Rowling.**


	17. The Case of the Absent Towels

**Canon-compliant, set during the summer before the trio's 5th year.**

* * *

**The Case of the Absent Towels**

_Prompt: young_

"Bloody effing hell," Severus murmured as he watched his tumbler of firewhisky spill onto his trouser leg as if in slow motion. The fine wool would require immediate cleansing if he even hoped to save his trousers from ruin. Setting aside the now-empty glass and his book, he stood and strode from the dim library at Number 12, Grimmauld Place in search of a towel.

This was his punishment for arriving early for the Order meeting. These happened to be his favorite pair of trousers, too. Reaching the small bathroom just down the hall, Severus quickly scanned the sink for a hand towel. There were none. He checked the cabinets and even the small linen closet in the hallway, all to no avail. Even more frustrated now, he poked his head into each of the nearby rooms, looking for _something _to soak up the firewhisky. How was it that an entire floor of this dusty mausoleum was completely bereft of cotton?

Grumbling to himself as he climbed the stairs to the next floor, he soon discovered that the bathroom here was linen-less as well. A quick check of the rooms revealed that they, too, had been robbed of all their textiles. The next floor up contained a handful of bedrooms which had been cleaned and repurposed by Molly Weasley for her family. Severus couldn't believe the effusive family was enjoying staying here for the summer, but he had to admit that if anyone could bring a spark of life to a place, it would be them.

A soft sound reached his ears from behind one of the doors. It sounded like an argument. Stepping closer, Severus pressed an ear to the wood.

"—but do you even _want _the attention if this is how you get it?"  
"I hardly see how it can be any _worse_—"

Oddly, the voices were one and the same. Easing the door open, Severus poked his head inside and nearly fell over laughing at the sight that met his eyes.

Standing in front of a full-length mirror with her grossly oversized chest puffed out was Hermione Granger, resident know-it-all. And apparently the brainy teenager had had quite enough of her less-than-impressive bust size. At least the location of all the Grimmauld Place towels was now clear, as he could see several of them poking out of the top of her shirt and many more piled up on the floor. Pushing the door open all the way, he stepped inside.

"There are potions for that, you know," he drawled, repressing a smirk when she jumped nearly a foot in the air and spun to face him, shirt still full to bursting with towels.

"Professor! I didn't realize you were there—"

"Obviously." He took in the dried tear tracks on her face and the defiantly embarrassed posture with the speed of one who had taught, guided, and lived with unruly teenagers for many years. He shut the door with a quiet _click_. "I am sorry to intrude on this little scene, but I spilled something on my trousers and went in search of a towel." His gaze fell to the lumpy bulges under her shirt before returning to her face, which had become a lovely shade of crimson.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Hermione began to pull the towels out of her bra as fast as she could, her face reddening even more. Severus leaned against a bedpost, crossing his arms as he watched her, amused. He was the Head of Slytherin House, so the idiosyncrasies of the female mind as it went through puberty were no secret to him. He had long ago learned that the best way to deal with hormonal females was to be matter-of-fact.

"As I said, there are a number of potions available if you truly wish to alter your physical attributes," he said nonchalantly.

Hermione was still busy retrieving balled-up towels from the depths of her shirt, so her voice was muffled. "Actually, I did read about a few, but none of them seemed very trustworthy," came the reply.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He should have known she'd done her research. "I see. Since it is apparent, then, that you _do _actually possess a modicum of common sense, I find that I must ask—_why_?"

She ceased her movements for a second as she pondered his question. He knew she'd realize what he was truly asking, and he was not disappointed. "Have you seen Sirius' room?" she asked him, continuing when he nodded. "Well, Harry and Ron seemed particularly taken by all the Muggle girls in bikinis, and I—I just—"

Her face screwed up again and Severus spoke gently to prevent another onslaught of tears. "Although it sounds trite, there will come a day when a boy likes you for _you_, Hermione. Not for _them_." He gestured towards the now-deflated areas of her chest. "You are what, fifteen?"

"Sixteen in September," she added in the fierce manner of a child trying to sound much older.

"You are nearly sixteen, then," he amended, a small smile begging to appear on his face. Sixteen was still so _young_. Abruptly he recalled a number of events that had occurred when _he _was sixteen, and suddenly he felt far less like smiling. Still, he knew how well a few words spoken at the right or wrong moment could stick with a person, so he dredged up a bit of sympathy and understanding. "If I might be forward, you still have a great deal of growing to do. I would not despair just yet." He straightened, scooped up a handful of towels, and moved towards the door.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione whispered as his hand landed on the knob. "You're very kind."

He turned his head to look at her, knowing full well the intimidating impact of his direct gaze. "If you tell a soul about that, I will tell everyone that you stuff your brassiere."

Hermione gasped in outrage. "You wouldn't!" she hissed.

"Slytherin, my dear." He pointed to himself. "You would do well to remember that."

He chuckled all the way back to the library.

* * *

**A/N: I can never quite figure out how old Hermione is in the books at any given time...grr. Anyway, I think this is right, but if not, my bad. Just a funny little scene that popped into my head this morning as I was thinking about reading some good fics set at Grimmauld Place. **

**Who has two thumbs and millions of dollars? JK Rowling. Who has two thumbs and isn't JK Rowling? THIS GAL!**


	18. The Case of the BattlefieldConfrontation

**Canon-compliant, set during Deathly Hallows.**

* * *

**The Case of the Battlefield Confrontation**

_Prompt: quiver_

_Where is he, where is he, where is he? _Hermione chanted the words in her head as she raced down the path towards what was left of Hagrid's hut. She and Ron had gotten separated after exiting the Chamber of Secrets, and now she was just hoping to come across either him or Harry. She hadn't found either of her friends in the Great Hall or the courtyard, so she'd decided to check around the perimeter of the castle before heading back inside. Speeding past several DA members engaged in duels with Death Eaters, Hermione haphazardly flung a few hexes at the black-robed wizards, hoping she'd hit at least one of them.

_Come on, come on! _She had to find Ron. And then they had to find Harry. But the chaos of a full-fledged battle was not easy to navigate, and she found herself being diverted towards the Whomping Willow. Racing as fast as she could go, she turned a corner and rammed into someone running the opposite direction. Trying to draw the air back into her lungs while keeping her balance, Hermione nevertheless managed to aim her wand at the other person. When she saw her opponent, her hand quivered, but she firmed her resolve.

Severus Snape stared back at her, his wand pointed steadily at her heart. For a few heartbeats, they stared at one another, both breathing heavily, both poised to kill if necessary. She couldn't read the emotion in his eyes, and it didn't occur to her until later that the very _presence _of emotion there should have been a major clue.

Slowly, his wand lowered, and Hermione hesitantly dropped hers as well. She knew he'd killed Dumbledore, but she couldn't quite bring herself to hex him without provocation. She supposed ingrained habits died hard. An explosion from her right drew her attention, and she glanced over her shoulder in case someone was headed for her, but it was only the burning body of an Acromantula being launched out of the Forest towards the school. Hermione cringed in revulsion.

As she turned back around, she realized her mistake: Professor Snape had taken advantage of her momentary distraction and was now directly in front of her. Bringing her wand arm up again, she nearly shrieked in frustration when he seized her easily about the wrist. His grip was punishing and she struggled to wrest her arm free. With one tug, she was pressed solidly against him, and then he surprised her once again.

His lips on hers were fierce and demanding, but not harsh. Hermione stood, immobilized, as he kissed her frantically. Maybe it was the adrenalin, or maybe she recognized his reasons for the kiss, but soon she was kissing him back just as urgently. Another loud bang broke them apart. Hermione's eyes snapped to his and what she saw there brought tears to hers.

He released her wrist and with one last, lingering look, turned and ran in the direction of the Willow's secret entrance. Her body shook with raw emotion as realization dawned. Hermione remained rooted to the spot as she watched him go, her fingers coming up to press against her bruised lips, his billowing black robes licking the air like flames.

He'd just told her goodbye.

* * *

**A/N: I had this whole other scenario mapped out that included a cameo from Lucius, but when I sat down to write it, a piece without any dialogue is what came out. I just imagine them plowing into each other accidentally during battle, and this emotionally super-charged scene. In this particular one-shot, they're not meant to have been in any kind of relationship - I view it more as Snape just wanting some pleasant human contact before he goes to meet his death. And now I'm going to go cry. **

**I'm not JKR!**


	19. The Case of the Role Reversal

**AU, generally morose, completely unromantic. You've been warned.**

* * *

**The Case of the Role Reversal**

_Prompt: lost_

Hermione flung herself back in her chair, running a hand over her face in exasperation. The idiots in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement were continuing to make things difficult. How was she expected to present a logical argument when they would not turn over all the relevant case information? She supposed she shouldn't be working on this now, but when her boss had forced her to take her untouched vacation days, she had not been in a position to abandon the case she was reviewing. A wizard's freedom hung in the balance, and she would not fail, even if she had been banished to the most beautiful villa the southern Italian coast had to offer. Deciding to take a break, she stomped out to her back patio and pulled out a cigarette. She was having trouble lighting it, however, due to the gently stirring breeze coming off the Mediterranean. Cursing violently, she slammed the lighter down and scowled out at the sea. The rage that was always simmering lately bloomed into prominence, and she upended one of the deck chairs. It didn't make her feel any better. No matter what she tried, it seemed that these days she was always just so...angry. At everything. It hardly took more than one wrong look to send her into a towering rage, and she had snapped at more than one of her apprentices. Now that she thought about it, her issues with anger and resentment were probably a large part of why she was being forced to take a vacation. Snorting at the unnecessary concern for her state of mind, Hermione picked up the lighter again. Smoking was about the only thing that calmed her of late. Before she could bring the flame to the end of her cigarette, however, a loud knock came at the door. Hermione ignored it - no one knew to look for her here and besides, she was certainly not in the mood for company. Once again on the verge of lighting her cigarette, she growled in irritation when the knock echoed through the villa, louder and more insistent than before. Determining to bring the person on the other side of the door to tears, Hermione strode into the house and flourished her wand.

The door opened with a satisfactory bang, slamming into the wall behind it. Hermione appeared in the opening a second later, and froze. _I really need that smoke,_ she decided. _And maybe I'd better eat dinner to be safe, because I've started hallucinating. _Blinking at the person standing there, she searched for words as a plethora of emotions raced through her body. Shock...disbelief...confusion...giddiness...uncertainty...anger... Hermione finally settled on cool fury, because she had become so very good at that particular emotion over the past year. Everyone, _everyone_, cowered before her when her voice took on the cold, cruel tone that indicated she was less than pleased.

"Well?" she asked, her eyes boring into the oh-so-familiar pair in front of her. "I was about to have dinner; what do you want?" She was purposefully uninviting.

The man on her doorstep was not helpful, however. Severus Snape's voice was familiar, but the words were foreign when he asked, "May I join you?"

Hermione considered him. She had no idea what he could possibly be doing here, now. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned and said over her shoulder: "I don't care. However, I will warn you that I am not fond of company, and especially—not yours." She enunciated the last two words, wanting to be quite clear. Halfway to the back patio she heard his footsteps ring out on her tile entryway. With another swish of her wand, the door slammed shut behind him, and she hoped he was startled. She smirked but did not look back. Stepping onto the patio, she picked up the lighter and this time was successful in lighting her cigarette. Throwing herself into the only standing chair, she stared at the darkening sky, wondering whether he would insist on staying when she made it clear that she did not wish to see him.

Professor Snape followed her onto the patio. She felt him staring at her for several moments before he bent down, picked up the chair she had tossed, and set it upright. Taking a seat, he once again smiled at her, saying, "I thought you were about to have dinner?"

Her only response was to jiggle the cigarette at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his frown, and was glad for it.

"You cannot possibly tell me you are surviving on nicotine," he said softly, cajolingly. "I shan't believe it of you." A tentative chuckle accompanied his words.

Hermione did not respond. She gulped down her cigarette in two deep draws, stubbed it out in a potted plant, and lit another. She was always calmer for the second one. "No," she drawled. "I also consume a great deal of caffeine. It is my impression that I survive on _that_." Still she would not look at him, hoping that he would give up and leave.

Now he was frustrated with her. "A person cannot hope to live long on coffee and cigarettes," he mused. "You are hastening yourself to an early grave." Hermione ignored the hint of caring in his tone.

Finally turning to pin him with her best glare, she stated, "You are welcome to leave if you do not approve of my choices." She didn't think she could bear it if he stayed, his eyes devouring her with apparent concern.

They stared at one another for what seemed like ages. After years of bitterness, loneliness, anguish, Hermione was not about to break down. This man had expected to be welcomed with open arms? He expected that she would listen, and nod in agreement, when he chided her? Perhaps he thought she would scurry to do his biding, as she once had. _Well, _Hermione thought, _things certainly do change, don't they? _She squared her shoulders and forced even more ice into her gaze. Looking off-balance, the dratted man finally dropped his eyes to stare at his hands, which Hermione noted with pleasure were twisted in his lap.

"Hermione," he whispered. "What has happened to you? I thought -" The despair in his voice was unmistakable, and she felt her blood begin to boil anew.

"You thought what, _Snape_?" she spat at him. "You thought you could show up here, uninvited, unannounced, _alive of all things_, and I would fall to my feet in gratitude?" She surged out of her chair, the last dregs of her cigarette forgotten. "You thought to gain the upper hand by scaring the living daylights out of me, returning from the alleged dead? I'm not the girl you knew, Snape, not by half. Say whatever it is you came to say, and then get out." Hermione crossed her arms angrily and stared into the setting sun, letting its blaze sear her eyes. It was easier than looking at _him_.

"The upper hand? Of what? Not everything need be a battle, Hermione," he said, sounding hurt and confused. "I merely wanted to...see you again. Let you know I was alright."

"Oh, well, I'm so very pleased that you are doing well, Professor," she said sarcastically. "I suppose I can finally get a good night's sleep, now."

She was gasping for air, trying to rein in her thoughts. Emotional outbursts were a thing of the past - she was much better at controlled malice, words carefully chosen for their power to sting, destroy. A mirthless laugh escaped her when she realized that she had become rather like the man now sitting on her porch.

"And as for battles... Do you have any idea what it is that I do now?" she asked him curiously.

"No, I—I don't," he replied. "I saw you, at the cafe last week, and I was naturally surprised. I nearly said something, but I did not want our reunion to be a public one. It took some time for me to convince myself to come here...not knowing what my reception would be." He sounded almost wistful, but Hermione knew he was not a man of emotions such as those.

"I shall endeavor to be less – visible - when I am out, in future," she muttered irritably. "Well, I suppose you may as well know everything. Or perhaps you already do?" She chanced a glance at him, and he shook his head. "Very well. The first year after you - died - I spent campaigning for your innocence," she began, softly. "Harry, Ron and I - we persisted, against the advice of just about everyone, until your name was cleared." She took a deep breath before continuing. "You received a posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class, you know," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I did not know," he said quietly. "Thank -"

Cutting across him, she continued, louder now. "I spent the next year petitioning for your portrait to be added to the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts. That was when Ron and I went our separate ways," she finished slowly. "With Harry's help, I was successful. The year after that - well, by then I was rather on my own." Another unhappy laugh. "But there is now a handsome memorial with your name on it, very close to Dumbledore's. Of course, everyone assumed the Death Eaters had destroyed your body..." she said wryly, and then, "More fool we," she whispered under her breath.

"Hermione -"

"Ten points from Slytherin for interrupting," she mocked. "I am not yet finished. For the past four years, I have devoted my life to clearing the names of innocent witches and wizards, and freeing them from Azkaban. It is tireless, thankless work - it has destroyed every relationship I hold dear - my health, my spirit, everything has become second place to uncovering the truth for the wrongly accused. And all because of a - a - _prat _of a professor who, it turns out, does not even have the common decency to _actually_ be dead!"

She glared at him, taking a moment to catch her breath. He was staring at her, his expression, for once, entirely decipherable - awed, humbled, proud, amazed. Seeing the approval that she had so desperately sought from him as an adolescent was too much, now - she scoffed at his weakness in finally giving her what she had wanted so long ago. She was beyond such foolish goals...she had been for nearly seven years.

"Oh, Hermione," he sighed, his voice a caress. "You shouldn't have wasted so much time on me..."

"It was the right thing to do," she snapped. "It _is _the right thing to do. And if not for me, those other witches and wizards would have no one." He opened his mouth to speak, and she stopped him with a raised hand. "I do not want your gratitude, or your reverence, or your anything," her voice was strong and did not waver. "In fact, I would like to be reminded of those times as little as possible. Your purpose in visiting me tonight has been fulfilled - I know now that you are 'alright,' and you needn't worry that I shall tell anyone of your existence when I return. There is nothing left to say between us, Professor." She shook her head and glanced down at the weather-beaten boards of her deck before meeting his eyes again. "I trust you can find your way out."

The steely resolve in the honey-brown eyes did not flicker for a moment, and eventually resignation dawned in the pleading sympathy of the black eyes. Hermione did not watch him go.

* * *

Severus knelt at the tall gray monument sitting just apart from Dumbledore's white stone statue. He could not have chosen a better marker of his woebegone life if he had tried. The stone managed to glow with a warmth that invited visitors to come closer, to read the inscriptions wrapped around all sides of the monolith. His life, his actions, his choices - all were laid out before the observer, told in such a way that one could not help but walk away utterly convinced he was a true hero. Hermione had outdone herself. He had laughed himself silly when he had seen the quote scrawled across the top, his first year speech, everlasting: and just as suddenly, the laughter had changed to sadness. Yes, the monument was fantastic - but at what cost? The woman he had met held only the barest resemblance to the girl he had known, and he wondered at the cause. They had won; her friends and family were alive; everything had worked out better than he or Dumbledore could have expected. And yet...Hermione Granger was deeply unhappy, full of resentment, apparently alone and friendless as she worked to free others from the same fate that had plagued him all his life - the injustice of assumed guilt. If only he was free to chase her back towards the light...but no. He must remain hidden, safe within the confines of his new life - he was already risking much to be here tonight, but he had had to see her accomplishment with his own eyes. Silently, he added one last sentence to the inscription. He fully expected it to fade, but somehow, the granite must have recognized that it was the man who was supposed to be slumbering beneath who was carving into the cool stone, adding to his own obituary, and the words did not fade. He only hoped that she would see them, someday, and know that he was trying to say: Thank you, and I am sorry.

_"...In the end, though Severus had been spurred to action by his love for Lily Potter, the fire that kept him going was none other than a little blue flame conjured by the brightest witch of the age. He sacrificed everything so that she and others may continue to live."_

* * *

**A/N: Told you it was morose. I wrote this ages and ages ago, when I first got into fanfic. There used to be a show on TV called Reunion, and it got canceled during its first season, but I was intrigued because it was a then-and-now type show. And one of the main characters, a good, sweet, smart girl in the 'then' segments, was a total apathetic, smoking, bad-a** b*tch in the 'now' segments. And I always wondered-what HAPPENED to her to make her that way? Sadly, I will never find out. But that's why we don't particularly know what Hermione's deal is here, either. I think it's better left unexplored. **

**I put this as part of my OTP collection because I like to explore all facets of this relationship, not just the fluffy. Also, I'm in a powerfully cranky mood today, so this just seemed like the time to edit and post this oneshot! As always, I'm not JK Rowling. **


	20. The Case of the Vanished Trousers

**EWE, drunken/brazen Hermione, AU in that Snape lives, etc., etc.**

* * *

**The Case of the Vanished Trousers**

_Prompt: agitated_

"Oompf!" Hermione barreled into something solid and warm. For some reason, it made her laugh, although her current mood was not at all amused. She looked up, up, up into the decidedly _unamused_ countenance of Professor Snape. His scowl only made her laugh harder.

"Can I help you, Miss Granger?"

His horrified whisper washed over her, and suddenly Hermione had a very, very good idea. "Yes, actually! Will you shag me?"

Snape's eyes widened briefly before he narrowed them at her. Seizing her arm rather painfully, he dragged her over behind one of the many pillars in the entryway. "What did you just ask me?" he growled.

Hermione swayed towards him, licking her lips. Yes, he would be perfect! She could _definitely _appreciate that voice in her bed...

"Miss Granger, focus!" He was angry now. Hermione giggled. "What. Did. You. Say?" he bit out.

"I said, will you shag me?" Hermione repeated, taking the opportunity to rub her hands over his arms. Snape looked scandalized. "You asked me if you could help me, and I said yes. I need someone to shag me."

"Oh, well, then by all means." He gestured towards the closest staircase.

She suspected he was being sarcastic, but her fuzzy brain wouldn't allow her to analyze his tone overmuch. Grabbing his hand, she towed him back out into the crowd and began to climb the stairs. She was wobbly, though, and she was quickly forced to drop his hand so that she could grasp the banister more securely.

"Where are we going?" he hissed in her ear. Hermione's knees gave a little at the sensation of his breath on her neck, but she pressed on.

"Away from all the people," she said matter-of-factly. She heard him growl again but she couldn't make out the words. All her concentration was focused on getting her up the stairs in one piece—honestly, this was the last time she'd wear heels to a party. They were entirely too difficult to navigate.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Hermione turned left and headed down the third hallway. Despite her general alcoholic fog, she managed to guide them to an empty broom closet, shoving a surprised Snape inside and slamming the door behind them.

It was completely dark. "Dragon's balls," she mumbled as she dug for her wand. She thought she heard him chuckle, but she dismissed it. Severus Snape did not chuckle, that much she was sure of. Finally, she located her wand and managed to cast a weak Lumos. "There we are—"

"Miss Granger. Explain yourself at once." He had his arms crossed over his chest, and he appeared to be trying to take up as little space in the closet as possible. Hermione found that in her current state she got a large kick out of making him uncomfortable, so she pressed herself against him. His look of shock was enough to make up for banging her elbow when they stumbled backwards and landed hard on the floor.

"Yes. Well. We were downstairs at the party, and I didn't see you there, truly I didn't, but then you asked if you could help and I said yes—"

"I already know that part. What I do not know is why you have repeatedly asked me to shag you, and have now imprisoned me in a broom closet."

He'd braced her with both hands on her waist, and Hermione wiggled a bit, experimenting with the feel of his palms and fingers against her silk-clad hips. It felt surprisingly lovely. Yes, this was going to work out quite well.

"Cease your writhing at once, you silly girl! You have not answered my questions!"

Hermione let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, you're no fun. But I'm not either, apparently, so maybe we can be fun together." She tilted her head, waiting for him to confirm, but he said nothing. She blew a curl out of her face and, resigned, began to tell him the whole sordid story. "My _former _boyfriend has decided that I'm no good at the whole shagging business and he's taken up with someone who is. I came to the party tonight hoping to forget the things he said, but then I saw him dancing with that trollop Lavender and it all came rushing back. So I had a _teensy _bit of Firewhisky—" here Snape snorted "—and I decided, I ought to learn to be better in the sack!"

Hermione looked at him expectantly, but Professor Snape merely raised an eyebrow. His hands were still on her waist, though, so Hermione felt emboldened to tell him the rest. "The library had a few books, of course, but mostly they were aimed at couples with advanced skills. I need a rudimentary course, much as it pains me to admit it." She sighed and rubbed her cheek back and forth against the cloth of his robes. "Can you imagine? Hermione Granger, most brilliant witch of her day, and she doesn't even know how to give a good—"

"Miss Granger!" Snape interrupted, sounding pained. Hermione moved her face up into the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply. "Miss Granger, you must stop. You are inebriated and clearly vulnerable. Allow me to return you downstairs to your friends—"

"I don't wanna," she told him peevishly. She felt rather than heard him sigh. Slithering up his torso a bit, she nuzzled her face into his cheek. "Why won't you just sleep with me? Am I really so horrible?"

There was a long silence, and Hermione's heart sank. She supposed that a non-answer was still an answer, after all, and she wouldn't force him against his will. Starting to slide off of him, their robes got twisted and she ended up rolling awkwardly onto the floor, trapped by a length of his robe wound tightly around her leg. Deciding that maybe she would just stay in this musty little closet forever, she closed her eyes and waited for Snape to untangle himself and leave.

He made no move to leave, however. In fact, he wasn't moving at all. Great, maybe she'd given him a heart attack. Wouldn't that just be newsworthy? "Heroic Professor Survives Nagini; Is Killed By Obnoxious Former Student." It had Rita Skeeter written all over it.

"Professor?" she asked timidly.

"I believe the relevant question is why would _you _wish to sleep with _me_?" came the gravelly response.

"Oh, but I thought that was obvious," Hermione gushed, relieved that she hadn't shocked him to death after all.

"Perhaps you could explain it to me anyway," he growled. Hermione grinned in the darkness—even in such an odd situation, he was still so prickly! She wondered if he would relinquish that legendary control once she got his clothes off...

Shaking herself and then regretting it when her head swam, Hermione rolled back towards him so that she was laying half-on, half-off him. "Ron says I'm no good at sex. I want to improve. I asked you to sleep with me because I know you don't like me overly much, and I know you won't hesitate to criticize every little thing I do that's wrong." Satisfied with her explanation, she smiled down at him before remembering that it had been pitch black ever since they'd fallen and he probably couldn't see her face.

"Miss Granger, that is the most ridiculous..." Professor Snape exhaled sharply, and Hermione felt some of his coiled tension release. "Do you really believe that being intimate with someone who is continually pointing out your deficiencies will be in the least bit satisfying?"

"I—what?" There were too many words in that sentence for her muzzled brain to take in. Although she wouldn't mind if he wanted to keep up a steady stream of chatter once they were both naked. To that end, Hermione sloppily Vanished all her clothing. And his trousers, although she hadn't meant to.

"Miss Granger!" His yelp of surprise brought on another bout of giggles, and soon Hermione was unable to stop the hysterical laughter. Distantly she noted that he had maneuvered himself into a sitting position, and then without warning light flared in the small closet and her laughter ceased.

She watched Professor Snape lower his wand. He had apparently managed to conjure or Transfigure himself another pair of trousers, and Hermione's sobering brain registered genuine disappointment. And then she registered the fact that she was indeed sobering.

"Was that a—did you cast a spell to induce sobriety?"

"Ah, _this _is the Miss Granger with whom I am familiar." She made a face at him and he relented. "Yes, it's the spell equivalent of a Pepper-Up. You clearly needed to return to your senses if you thought Vanishing my trousers was cause for merriment."

"I didn't mean to Vanish them, just my clothing—oh!" Remembering that she was still naked, Hermione grabbed the tail of his robe and held it over her as best she could, blushing furiously. "You couldn't have conjured me some clothes, too?"

"You seemed determined to remove them," he pointed out.

Hermione glared at him, then reconsidered and scooted closer. Perhaps now that she wasn't falling over drunk, he would agree to sleep with her still. The only thing that had changed with the casting of his spell was her embarrassment level, but truly, she could overcome that if it meant she'd pick up a few pointers on lovemaking. Her end goal was still the same, and the fact of the matter was that she was growing more and more convinced that Professor Snape could be the answer to her problem.

When her knee bumped his leg, he jerked his limbs away from her, but Hermione kept moving closer. Very quickly he ran out of places to go in the small closet, and Hermione pressed against his side, staring earnestly into his face. "You don't seem to mind that they're gone," she stated, still feeling bold even though the alcohol was gone from her system.

His Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes flicked down to her bare shoulders and then back to her face. She was disappointed when he did not bother to agree with her. "Miss Granger, perhaps the first point that you fail to grasp is that having sex while your partner critiques your every move is not conducive to good sex."

Hermione wiggled closer. "I don't care what you say as long as you keep talking to me while we're doing it," she breathed into his ear, feeling equal parts thrilled with her daring and embarrassed by it.

"I am _not _going to—get out of my lap this instant!" Snape pushed at her, his hands frantic. Hermione grinned and swatted him away, trying to keep her precarious seat. It was difficult until she relinquished the hold on his robes—the ones which had until now been providing a modicum of modesty. With both hands free, she was able to latch onto his shoulders and hang on for dear life. He quickly changed tactics and stopped trying to shove her off his lap.

Instead, he lumbered to his feet in an attempt to dislodge her, but Hermione was quicker. She slid her arms around his neck and locked her legs about his waist.

"You shouldn't have sobered me up," she admonished him teasingly. "My reflexes are much worse when I've been drinking."

Her only answer was a growl and his hands on her thighs, trying to pry her off. He'd dropped his wand and they were once again fumbling in the darkness. Hermione tightened all her muscles and then focused on the feel of his hands on her person. All in all, being groped by her former professor was far less repulsive than she would have imagined, even without the numbing presence of the Firewhisky.

Natural curiosity kicking in, Hermione trained her attention on her legs. She could feel Professor Snape's long fingers sliding over and around her thighs and down to her knees as he tried to find a spot to disentangle her. When he twisted a bit to wrap his hands around her ankles, Hermione felt her body tingle with the first awakenings of desire. _Interesting_. Then his hands slid back up her legs to just below the curve of her bum. Suddenly she was hyper-aware of everything: the heat emanating from his body, the ends of his hair tickling her hands, the way his robes were softly rubbing across her nipples with every move either of them made. She couldn't quite stifle a moan as she felt moisture rush to her center.

Snape froze. All of a sudden she found herself unable to bear the loss of his hands stroking her skin, and she shifted to press her breasts more fully against him, slowly rubbing them back and forth across his robes. She wondered what it would take to make him lose control and just take her already. He had simply been the first person she'd run into—literally—after deciding to partake in sex lessons, but it was becoming clear that he was really the only man she wanted to sleep with.

She wound her hands into his hair and ever-so-slightly touched his lips with hers. "_Please_," she whispered desperately.

He immediately dropped her. From the floor, Hermione stared at his fleeing form in shock as he practically ran from the closet, not even bothering to retrieve his wand. She was so humiliated—she'd just _begged _her professor to sleep with her! And worse, he had refused!

No, she wouldn't allow it. Narrowing her eyes, Hermione grabbed both their wands while she formulated a plan. Clothing herself quickly, she stormed out of the closet and followed after him.

* * *

**A/N: Evil cliff-hanger, yes, I know! I just got kind of lost and ramble-y with this one-shot and didn't quite know where to take it. So I'm going to do some thinking, and if I come up with something, then I'll post it as part 2. Otherwise, you can imagine your own ending. :)**

**JK Rowling is rolling over in her castle as I publish this.**


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